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THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


I 

















































































































































































































































































HY'S •WA'T^'o n 


He waited, his axe grasped in both hands 


[Page 272 ] 





THE WILDERNESS 
CASTAWAYS 


BY 


DILLON WALLACE 

11 


AUTHOR OF 

“THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD,” “THE LONG 
LABRADOR TRAIL,” “BEYOND THE 
MEXICAN SIERRAS,” ETC 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

HENRY S. WATSON 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

i9 l 3 



13 - / 07 / 5 " 


PZ1 

WlFiT 

Nn/u 


Copyright 

A. C. McClurg & Co. 
1913 

Published September, 1913 
Copyrighted in Great Britain 


1 



W. F. HAUL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Getting Acquainted . . i 

II The First Bear ... 23 

III A Husky Camp .... 34 

IV The Wilderness Primeval . 49 

V Wrecked.64 

VI The Castaways Abandoned . 86 

VII Adrift on an Ice Pan . . 95 

VIII Facing Starvation . . .111 

IX The Waters Clear . . .124 

X A Narrow Escape . . .140 

XI A Death Struggle . . .151 

XII Factor MacTavish of Fort 

Reliance.163 

XIII Winter Shelter and Hard 

Work.184 

XIV A Lonely Christmas . .194 

XV The Trapper from Indian 

Lake.209 

XVI Released from Bondage . . 219 

XVII The Snowshoe Journey to 

Indian Lake . . . .231 




CONTENTS 


XVIII 

Stalked by Wolves . 

252 

XIX 

On the Fur Trails . 

270 

XX 

Winnipeg at Last . 

285 

XXI 

Bad News and Good . 

295 

XXII 

How Paul and Dan Made 



Good. 

306 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

He waited, his axe grasped in both hands . Frontispiece 
“ Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan .... 84 

Dan struck up a tune.116 ' 

Fired several more shots after the retreating birds 136 " 
He could feel its sharp claws tearing his flesh . 162 ^ 

The Eskimos were watching them curiously from 


the beach.174' 

“You’re a big coward”.180^ 

The boys were startled. They had heard no 

one approach . . .... 208 

The three put their heads together . . . 286^ 













* 














THE WILDERNESS 
CASTAWAYS 


CHAPTER I 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


T"\AN RUDD,” roared Captain Zachariah 
Bluntt, “ if I has to tell you again to 
keep that mouth organ below decks, I ’ll 
wring your neck I Yes, wring your neck! By 
the imps of the sea, I will! ” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” answered Dan Rudd, a 
robust, sunny-faced sailor lad of sixteen, 
quickly slipping the offending harmonica, 
upon which he had been playing a lively air, 
into his pocket. 

Captain Bluntt, impatiently pacing the 
deck, was plainly in ill humor. His great red 
beard, standing out like a lion’s mane, bristled 
ominously, and his shaggy eyebrows were 
drawn down in an unpleasant scowl. 

It was two o’clock on a mid-July afternoon, 
[i] 



THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


the last case of provisions had been lowered 
into the hold, the last lighter-load of coal 
stowed into the bunkers, steam was up, and the 
staunch little Newfoundland steamer North 
Star, riding at anchor in Sydney harbor, had 
been ready to sail for three hours, and for 
three hours Captain Bluntt had been impa¬ 
tiently awaiting orders to get under way. 

Two clean-cut, smooth-shaven, alert young 
men of thirty or thereabouts were standing at 
the port rail aft. Their sun-tanned faces 
marked them as men accustomed to out-of- 
door life, and their sinewy, muscular frames 
and keen but good-humored eyes proclaimed 
health and genial dispositions. They were 
intently, and with visible impatience, watch¬ 
ing a wharf from which a boat was putting 
off. As the little craft shot out into the open 
one of them raised a pair of binoculars to his 
eyes, studied it for a moment, and announced: 

“There he is at last! Here, take a look 
through the glass, Ainsworth,” and he passed 
the binoculars to his friend. 

“Yes, that’s he,” said Ainsworth, after a 
moment’s observation, “ and, Remington, he’s 
[2] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

sitting back smoking a cigarette as uncon¬ 
cernedly as if he had n’t kept us waiting half 
a day for him.” 

“ I ’ll tell the skipper, and ease his mind,” 
suggested Remington, and striding forward 
he called out cheerily: 

“ All right, Captain Bluntt, Master Dens- 
more is coming. You may put out as soon as 
you please when he’s aboard.” 

“ Very vexing! Very vexing, Mr. Reming¬ 
ton!” exclaimed Captain Bluntt. “ Fair 
wind, fair tide, and losing advantage of it, 
sir! All right, sir, all right. We’ll weigh 
anchor at once, sir.” 

In a moment sailors were working at the 
windlass, anchor chains were clanking, and 
the men singing in rhythmic unison as they 
swung up and down at the crank handles. 
Then the engines began to pulsate. 

The North Star had been chartered by the 
two young men — George Remington and 
Henry Ainsworth — for a summer’s voyage to 
Hudson Bay. Both were enthusiastic sports¬ 
men, and Remington, who had once before 
visited the region, had promised Ainsworth 
[3] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


some exciting polar bear and walrus hunting, 
as well as excellent sport fishing the coastal 
streams for salmon and trout. 

Paul Densmore, the only son of John Dens- 
more, a multimillionaire ship owner and a 
friend of Remington’s, had been invited by 
Remington to accompany them as his guest. 
When Remington and Ainsworth went aboard 
the North Star upon the morning our story 
begins, Paul had remained ashore in Sydney 
to make some purchases in the town, promis¬ 
ing to follow them within the hour. Captain 
Bluntt had been instructed to make ready for 
departure accordingly. But Paul had failed 
to keep his promise, and with hours of idle 
waiting for the appearance of the delinquent 
youth Captain Bluntt had worked himself 
into the high state of ill humor in which we 
find him. 

“ The Captain was just at the point of blow¬ 
ing up,” laughed Remington when he rejoined 
Ainsworth, “ but he ’ll be all right presently. 
He’s a very impatient old fellow.” 

“ He’s had good reason to be impatient,” 
said Ainsworth. “ I can safely prophesy more 
[4] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

breakers ahead. Judging from the little I’ve 
seen of that boy, Remington, you ’ll be 
heartily sorry you brought him before we get 
back to New York.” 

“ I’m heartily sorry already,” admitted 
Remington, “ but I could n’t help it. Dens- 
more is one of the best fellows in the world. 
He pulled me out of a tight place once when 
I was caught in the market, and when he 
asked me the other day if it would be an impo¬ 
sition upon friendship if he asked me to invite 
Paul, there was nothing to do but invite the 
youngster to come.” 

“ Oh, do n’t think for a moment I’m find¬ 
ing fault with you, old man,” Ainsworth 
hastened to explain. “ I see your position, 
and I’d have done the same under the circum¬ 
stances, but it’s a pity nevertheless that we 
have to put up with him.” 

“ Yes, it is a pity,” agreed Remington. 
“ That boy has no sense of responsibility. 
Never keeps an appointment or a promise. 
I never saw any one quite so lacking in 
consideration of others — selfish — selfish — 
that’s the word.” 


[ 5 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Why did his father ever let him grow into 
such a cad, anyway? What he needs is a good 
sound thrashing every day for a month. That 
would cure him.” 

“Fact is, I don’t think Densmore ever 
knew much about him until recently. Too 
many irons in the fire to give much thought 
to his family. This steamship company’s his 
pet scheme just now, but he’s the head of half 
a dozen other big things, and even when he’s 
home his mind is all taken up with business. 
He left the boy’s training to the mother, and 
it’s the old story of an only child. She’s 
coddled and indulged and pampered him till 
she’s spoiled him. He failed in the final tests 
at school this year — he attends a select boys’ 
school uptown somewhere — and the head 
master wrote Densmore that there was no use 
sending him back unless he took more interest 
in the work, adding something to the effect 
that he seemed strangely void of ambition, 
never obeyed rules unless convenient, and was 
a disturbing element in the school. I think 
that brought Densmore to his senses about his 
son’s condition.” 


[6] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

“ And he shoved the boy off on us for the 
summer,” said Ainsworth ill-naturedly. 

“ Oh, no, not for the purpose of getting rid 
of him,” Remington hastened to explain. 
“ Densmore’s all right. He would n’t inten¬ 
tionally cause us inconvenience. He had two 
reasons for asking me to bring him. He 
learned Paul was addicted to cigarettes, and 
he wanted to get him away somewhere where 
cigarettes are n’t to be had. He thought, too, 
that good, wholesome exercise in the open, 
and a complete change of environment, might 
give him a new view of life and awaken his 
ambition. The boy’s mother has never per¬ 
mitted him to take part in what she calls 
rough games — baseball, football and real 
boys’ sports — and she’d never let him go 
camping with other fellows, though he’s 
begged to go. Afraid he’d get hurt. It took 
a lot of argument on Densmore’s part to get 
her permission to let him come with us.” 

“ One of those young hopefuls, is n’t he, 
that thinks his father is rich and there’s no 
use of his ever doing anything but spend 
money?” suggested Ainsworth. “From the 
[ 7 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

little I’ve seen of him, he ’ll spend it, all 
right, too.” 

At that moment the boat hove alongside, 
and a tall, sallow-faced lad, perhaps seventeen 
years of age, a cigarette hanging at the corner 
of his mouth, tossed a bill to the boatman, 
languidly rose to his feet, caught the rope 
ladder lying over the ship’s side, and with 
difficulty climbed to the deck. 

“ Glad to see you, Paul,” greeted Reming¬ 
ton. “ We were getting a bit worried about 
you. You ’re late.” 

“ Oh, I did n’t think there was any rush,” 
said Paul indifferently. “ Stopped for 
luncheon at the hotel. Horrible stuff they 
serve there. It really is n’t fit to eat.” 

“ I’m afraid your appetite is n’t very good, 
Paul,” suggested Remington. “ Wait till you 
get your lungs full of salt air, and rough it 
a bit; you ’ll think anything is good then.” 

“ Oh, I do n’t know,” Paul remarked in¬ 
differently, as he lounged back upon a chair, 
drew a fresh cigarette from a silver case, 
lighted it, flicked some ashes from his white 
flannel trousers and casually surveyed the 
[ 8 ] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

deck. “What a rum old ship this is!” he 
continued. “ I thought we were going to have 
a comfortable yacht.” 

“ The North Star is n’t much to look at,” 
admitted Remington, “ but she’s the best sort 
of a ship for our trip. No ordinary yacht 
would do. We ’re going to rough it good and 
plenty, you know.” 

“ That so? What kind of roughing it? ” 

“ Hunting, fishing, camping, and that sort 
of thing. I hope we ’ll have some good bear 
hunting before we get back.” 

“Bear hunting!” Paul was interested at 
once. “ What kind of bears shall we run 
across? Grizzlies? ” 

“ No,” laughed Remington, “ Polar bears.” 

“Polar bear hunting! Cricky, but that’ll 
be great! ” Paul sat up excitedly. “ Where ’re 
we going, Mr. Remington? I didn’t pay 
much attention to what Father said about it. 
I thought it was just an ordinary yachting 
trip.” 

“You didn’t seem to have much interest 
in it, coming over on the train,” said Reming¬ 
ton, and as he explained the region, the pros- 
[ 9 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


pective hunting and fishing, and the adven¬ 
ture, Paul forgot his cigarette. 

“ That’s just the kind of trip I’ve wanted 
to take all my life,” he exclaimed. “ May I 
shoot too? ” 

“ Yes, I Ve a rifle and a shotgun among my 
things for you.” 

“May I see them? I Ve always been just 
crazy for a gun! ” 

“ Wait a moment.” 

Remington went below and presently 
returned with a modern high-power rifle and 
a beautiful double-barreled shotgun. Paul’s 
eyes sparkled with delight and he listened 
with close attention while Remington ex¬ 
plained their manipulation, with due caution 
as to their handling. Then he exclaimed: 

u Good old Dad! He is a good scout to let 
me come with you! Ever so many thanks, 
Mr. Remington. Where are the car¬ 
tridges? ” 

“ They ’re with mine. I ’ll get them for 
you when you need them. You may as well 
take the guns down to your stateroom, though, 
when you go.” 

[10] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 


“ I guess I ’ll go now, and unpack my 
things.” 

“Very well. The steward will show you 
your room. You’ll find everything there. 
Abner,” turning to a bareheaded young sailor 
clad in blue flannel shirt, with sleeves rolled 
up, and trousers tucked into the tops of high 
sealskin boots, who was standing near the 
companionway, “ this is Master Densmore. 
Will you show him to his room? Abner is 
the steward, Paul.” 

“Yes, sir; this way, sir,” answered Abner, 
respectfully. 

“ He seems interested,” remarked Ains¬ 
worth when Paul had gone below. “ I’m 
inclined to think he’s a pretty good fellow at 
heart after all. Just spoiled.” 

“ That’s so,” agreed Remington. 

A moment later Paul reappeared from the 
companionway, and asked: 

“Where are my trunks, Mr. Remington? 
The steward took me to a room he insists is 
mine, but my trunks aren’t there; just some 
canvas bags. Guess he’s trying to put me in 
the wrong room.” 


[n] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ I left your trunks ashore, Paul.” 

“ Ashore! Why, all my things are in them! 
I can’t go without them! I’ve no clothes 
with me! ” 

“ The canvas bags contain all the clothes 
you ’ll need. Look through them and see 
what you think of the outfit. Your father 
selected them.” 

“ But my cigarettes! I packed them in one 
of the trunks! ” 

“ I’m afraid you ’ll have to do without 
them. You ’ll find you can shoot straighter if 
you do n’t smoke. Cigarettes knock a fellow’s 
nerves all out, you know.” 

“This is rum!” exclaimed the angry lad. 
“ No cigarettes! Well, I ’ll go down and see 
the stuff.” 

“ You’d better put on one of the warm suits 
you ’ll find in your bags, Paul,” suggested 
Remington. “ We ’re getting out to sea, and 
it ’ll be chilly on deck.” 

Paul vouchsafed no reply, but he profited 
by the advice, and donned a complete new out¬ 
fit of clothing suited to his surroundings. 

“Look like a dago laborer, don’t I?” he 
[12] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

asked Remington, whom he met at his state¬ 
room door half an hour later. 

“You look comfortably dressed/’ was the 
reply. “You see I’ve adopted similar 
clothes.” 

“ You do look funny,” laughed Paul, “ and 
that’s the way I feel. Mother would have a 
fit if she saw me now,” glancing down at his 
flannel shirt and heavy trousers and shoes. 
“ Mr. Remington,” he continued, hesitat¬ 
ingly, “I — I want to apologize for what I 
said about the trunks and cigarettes. I can 
get on without cigarettes if they’d spoil my 
shooting.” 

“ That’s all right, Paul. They certainly 
would spoil your shooting.” 

Captain Bluntt was in excellent humor 
when he took his place at the head of the 
supper table. 

“So you’re the young rascal,” he said to 
Paul, “ who kept us waiting at Sydney.” 

“ Oh, I guess there was n’t any great rush,” 
answered Paul, somewhat nettled. “We’re 
on a pleasure trip, and not trying to break a 
record.” 

[13] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Captain Bluntt looked at him curiously for 
a moment under his shaggy eyebrows. 

“ Not much of a sailor, I guess, youngster. 
Well, you ’ll learn something before you gets 
home. Got a wonderful lot to learn, too.” 

Paul flushed angrily, and retorted impu¬ 
dently and boastfully: 

“ Oh, I do n’t know. This is n’t my first 
yachting trip. I know a thing or two about 
sailing. Captains of yachts do n’t usually tell 
the guests what they ’re to do.” 

“ Yacht, eh? ” And Captain Bluntt laughed 
good-naturedly. “Well, well, don’t get 
grumpy. No offence meant. No doubt 
you ’re a great sailor; you look it. Yes, you 
look it! ” Turning from Paul as from a child 
whose presence he had quite forgotten, he 
remarked: 

“She’s off in fine style, Mr. Remington, 
fine style! And we’ll make a rare fine run, 
sir, if the weather holds. Yes, sir, if the 
weather holds! ” 

“ Is there much ice reported off the Labra¬ 
dor coast? ” 

“We’ll meet some ice, sir; bay ice. No 
[14] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

trouble with that, sir. Plenty of bergs 1 
Wonderful crop of bergs, sir! ” 

They had finished eating, and Captain 
Bluntt was striking a match to light one of 
Remington’s cigars which he had accepted, 
when strains of music floated down to them. 
He paused with lighted match in mid air, an 
ear cocked to one side, his red beard bristling. 

“ By the imps of the sea!” he blurted. 
“ There’s that Dan Rudd with his mouth 
organ, and I told him to keep un below! 
The rascal! Wring his neck! Yes, sir, I ’ll 
wring his neck!” and he sprang up as 
though bent upon carrying his threat into 
immediate execution. 

“ I rather like it,” remarked Ainsworth. 
“ May he play for us, Captain? ” 

“ If you likes un, sir, if you likes un. But 
I don’t call un playin’, sir; I calls un just 
pipin’ a racket! ” 

“ We would like to hear him,” said Rem¬ 
ington. “ Suppose we go above.” 

On deck they found Dan working away 
with all his will at his harmonica, keeping 
time with one foot, while a sailor danced a 
[15] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


breakdown, and other sailors clapped their 
hands and encouraged the dancer with: 

“ Go at un, Bill! Go at un, b’y! You ’re 
a spry un, Bill! ” 

Then Dan glimpsed Captain Bluntt, 
slipped the harmonica into his pocket, and 
the dancing ceased. 

“ Oh, do n’t stop playing — do n’t mind us,” 
encouraged Remington. “ We came to listen.” 

“ The skipper do n’t like music, sir,” said 
Dan, looking regretfully after Captain Bluntt, 
who was disappearing in the chart house, 
leaving a cloud of smoke from his fragrant 
cigar in his wake. 

“ Captain Bluntt said you might play if you 
wished, so please do not stop.” 

A little encouragement induced the dancer 
to resume his breakdown, and presently the 
fun was in full swing again. Another sailor 
took a turn, and then Dan suggested: 

“ Now Jack Griggs sing us ‘ Th’ Minnie 
Dart.’” 

“ An’ you plays th’ tune,” assented Jack. 

Dan struck up a lively tune and Jack began 
to bellow the song, which began: 

[16] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

“ Th’ Minnie Dart were as fine a craft 
As ever sailed th’ sea; 

She were eighty ton, an’ a fore an’ aft, 
An’ as smart as she could be,” 

and closed with a weird description of the 
going down of the Minnie Dart with all her 
crew. 

The music at an end, Remington and Ains¬ 
worth lounged aft to smoke and chat, while 
they enjoyed a perfect evening. A full moon 
had risen, transforming the gentle swell of the 
sea into molten silver, and to the right, in 
hazy distance, lay in faint outline the New¬ 
foundland coast. 

Paul strolled forward and soon became 
interested in watching the compass and the 
man at the wheel. 

“ What course are you sailing? ” he asked. 

The man made no reply. 

“ Let me try it. I can handle the wheel all 
right,” he continued, attempting to take the 
spokes. 

At that moment Captain Bluntt observed 
him. 


[17] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ By the imps of the sea! ” he roared, strid¬ 
ing forward and grasping Paul’s arm with a 
steel-like grip that made the youth wince as 
he vainly struggled to free himself. “ Keep 
away from that wheelhouse or I ’ll heave you 
overboard. By the imps of the sea I will! 
Heave you overboard! Heave you over¬ 
board! ” 

“ I guess I can go where I want to,” 
answered Paul impudently, but none the less 
frightened. 

Without releasing his grasp, or deigning to 
reply, the Captain half led, half dragged, Paul 
to Remington. 

“ This youngster must keep aft of the 
wheelhouse, sir! He was talking to the steers¬ 
man, sir! Talking to him! I ’ll not permit it, 
sir!” 

“ I’m sorry,” apologized Remington. “ I’m 
sure he did n’t understand that he was doing 
wrong, and he won’t do it again.” 

Captain Bluntt, mollified but still ruffled, 
returned to his duties, and Paul, almost in 
tears, lounged alone, amidships, sulking. 

Dan had witnessed the disciplining of Paul, 
[18] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

and in the hope of smoothing matters pres¬ 
ently wandered over to the lad, who was still 
sulking and nursing his injured dignity. 

“ Th’ skipper’s wonderful gruff some¬ 
times,” ventured Dan, “ but he do n’t mean 
nothin’. ’T is sort o’ his way.” 

“ Mr. Remington hired this old tub, and 
I’m his guest, and I guess I can go where I 
want to on it.” 

“ ’T is an able craft, an’ no old tub,” 
resented Dan. “ Th’ skipper is master at sea. 
’T is a rule of the sea.” 

“ He is n’t my master.” 

“ No, not that way. He’s just master o’ th’ 
ship. Your folks is payin’ th’ owners for th’ 
voyage, an’ they is payin’ th’ skipper t’ run 
th’ ship safe, an’ he has t’ make rules t’ run 
un safe or we’d be foulin’ reefs or gettin’ 
off our course.” 

Paul deigned no reply, and after an awk¬ 
ward pause Dan inquired: 

“ What’s your name? ” 

“ Paul Densmore.” 

“ Mine’s Dan Rudd. ‘ Dan’’s short for 
Dan’l. It’s after Dan’l that was in th’ lion’s 
[19] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


den, Dad says. Yours is from th’ Bible, too. 
I reckon you was named after th’ apostle 
Paul.” 

“ No, after my grandfather.” 

“ ’T is th’ same name, anyway. Dad reads 
out o’ th’ Bible nights when he’s home. We 
live in Ragged Cove, but Dad’s fishin’ down 
on th’ Labrador now with th’ Ready Hand." 

“ The ' Ready Hand? ’ What’s that? ” 

“ She’s a spry little schooner. Dad’s part 
owner. I been down with he twice.” 

Dan told of fishing adventures on the Lab¬ 
rador. Paul described his home in New 
York, the great buildings, the subway and 
elevated railroads, the great transatlantic 
steamships — a thousand wonders in which 
Dan was intensely interested. 

In the recital Paul soon forgot his injured 
dignity. He was glad of the companionship 
of a boy of his own age. No one, indeed, 
could long resist Dan’s good nature, and 
when the sailor lad finally said it was time to 
“ turn in,” and they parted for the night, each 
was pleased with his new acquaintance — an 
acquaintanceship that was to ripen into life- 
[20] 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

long friendship. They little guessed that they 
were destined to be companions in many 
adventures, to share many hardships, to face 
dangers and even death together. 

The North Star rounded Cape Charles the 
following evening, passed into the open Atlan¬ 
tic, and turned her prow northward. Innu¬ 
merable icebergs, many of fantastic form and 
stupendous proportions, were visible from the 
deck, their blue-green pinnacles reflecting the 
rays of the setting sun in a glory of prismatic 
colors. On their port lay the low, storm- 
scoured rocks of Labrador’s dreary coast, its 
broken line marked by many stranded ice¬ 
bergs. Now and again a distant whale 
spouted great columns of water. The white 
sail of a fishing schooner, laboring northward, 
was- visible upon the horizon. The scene, 
grim, rugged, but beautiful, appealed to 
Paul’s imagination as the most wonderful and 
entrancing he had ever beheld. 

That night Paul was suddenly awakened 
from sound slumber by a tremendous shock. 
He sprang from his berth with the thought 
that the ship had struck a reef or iceberg and 
[21] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


might be sinking. Terrified, he rushed to 
the companionway, where he was nearly 
thrown off his feet by another shock. At 
length he reached the deck. Spread every¬ 
where around the ship he could see, in the 
shimmering moonlight, nothing but ice. From 
the crow’s nest, on the mizzenmast, came the 
call of the ice pilot: “Port! Starboard! 
Port! Starboard! ” 

The lad’s terror increased as he witnessed 
the changed condition of the sea. It seemed 
to him that the great mass of heavy ice which 
closed upon the ship on every side must inevi¬ 
tably crush the little vessel and send her to the 
bottom. As he ran forward, another and 
heavier shock than any that had preceded sent 
him sprawling upon the deck. 


[22] 



CHAPTER II 
THE FIRST BEAR 


|3AUL had scarcely regained his feet when 
the gruff voice of Captain Bluntt ex¬ 
claimed: 

“ Well! Well, lad! And what brings you 
out o’ your snug berth at this time o’ night? ” 

“ What’s — what’s happened? Are we 
wrecked?” asked the frightened Paul. 

“Wrecked? No, no, lad! Just a bit of 
ice — just a bit of ice. ’T is all right, b’y. Go 
below and sleep. ’T is wonderful raw above 
decks for them thin clothes you ’re wearin’.” 

Paul, dressed only in pajamas, his feet bare, 
was indeed shivering. Much relieved, he 
turned down the companionway, glad to tuck 
himself in his warm berth, presently to fall 
asleep to the distant, monotonous call of the 
ice pilot, “Port! Starboard! Port! Star¬ 
board!” and in spite of repeated shocks, as 
the vessel charged the ice, alternately backing 
[23] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


and forging ahead at full speed in her attack 
upon the pack. 

The ice was left behind them during the 
night, and when morning dawned a stiff 
northeast breeze, cold and damp, had sprung 
up, and a sea was rising. The ship began to 
roll disagreeably, and at midday Remington 
encountered Paul, deathly pale, unsteadily 
groping his way to his stateroom. 

“ What’s the matter, Paul? ” he asked. 

“I — I feel sick,” Paul answered. 

The call had come for dinner, but Paul was 
not interested, and retired to his berth. The 
fog mist thickened, and all that afternoon and 
night the fog horn sounded at regular inter¬ 
vals, a warning to fishing craft of the vessel’s 
proximity. 

For three days Paul, in the throes of sea¬ 
sickness, was unable to leave his berth, but 
on the morning of the fourth day he reap¬ 
peared on deck, where his friends greeted 
him with good-natured jokes. 

They were entering Hudson Straits. On 
their port, near at hand, lay the rocky, ver¬ 
dureless Button Islands, and far to the south- 
[24] 


THE FIRST BEAR 


ward rose the rugged, barren peaks of the 
Torngaek Mountains in northeastern Labra¬ 
dor. To the northward in hazy outline Reso¬ 
lution Island marked the southern extremity 
of Baffin Land. 

Here and there, spread over the sea, were 
small vagrant ice pans, messengers from the 
far Arctic, which gave evidence of the high 
latitude the ship had attained. 

Now and again seals showed their heads 
above the water for a moment, quickly to 
disappear again. Sea gulls, their white wings 
gleaming in the sunlight, circled about, but 
nowhere was a sail or any indication of human 
life visible upon the wide horizon. 

It was a new world to Paul, and different 
from anything he had ever imagined. The 
utter absence of vessels, the apparently unin¬ 
habited and uninhabitable land, the awful 
primitive grandeur of it all gave him a vague, 
indescribable sense of fear — such a feeling as 
one ascending for the first time in a balloon 
must experience upon peering over the rim 
of the basket at the receding earth. This sen¬ 
sation quickly gave place to one of exulta- 
[25] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


tion — the exultation of a wild animal loosed 
in its native haunts after long confinement. 
Paul became possessed of a desire to shout. 
His blood tingled through his veins. He drank 
the pure atmosphere in great draughts, and it 
stimulated him like wine. He felt almost that 
he could do anything — fly if he wished. 

This was the first awakening in Paul of the 
primitive instinct which every human has 
inherited from prehistoric ancestors — an 
inborn love of the glorious freedom of the 
great wide wilderness where individual man 
stands supreme in his own right and where he 
may roam at will without restraint; where he 
feels that he is a person and not an atom; 
where he may meet nature face to face, and 
fearlessly match his human skill against her 
forces. 

Too often this instinct to retreat for a time 
to the wild places of the earth, to stand with 
bared head under the open sky, to breathe 
great lungfuls of pure atmosphere undefiled 
by the smoke of chimneys, to make the 
acquaintance of rocks and trees, of mountains 
and sea — to renew one’s faith in God — is 
[26] 


THE FIRST BEAR 


smothered by the luxuries and pamperings of 
civilization. So it had been with Paul. 

Standing on the deck of the North Star that 
bright July morning, in the midst of nature’s 
most rugged abode, that primordial instinct 
slumbering in his breast had then its first 
awakening. He seemed to expand. He felt 
himself grow. He longed to set foot upon 
those mysterious shores — to wrest from them 
their secrets. Presently he was to do so. Per¬ 
haps, had he known how close to the condition 
of his prehistoric ancestors he was to drift, he 
would have shrunk from his destiny. It is 
well for our peace of mind that an all-wise 
God hides from us today the happenings of 
tomorrow. 

At length the North Star passed out into 
the wider waters of Ungava Bay, and directly 
after dinner Remington suggested: 

“ Suppose you bring your rifle, Paul, and 
I ’ll get a box of cartridges. We ’ll try it out 
and see how you can shoot.” 

Paul had been looking forward to this 
opportunity, and a moment later he appeared 
with the rifle. 


[27] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Now draw a bead on that bit of ice out 
there,” said his instructor, “ and we ’ll see 
how you hold. Run your left hand farther 
forward on the stock — can’t hold steady 
with it away back like that — a little farther 
out — that’s better. Now you can stand 
straight and not have to bend backward like 
a woman does when she tries to shoot. Do you 
get the ice? Look through the notch on the 
rear sight, and bring the bead on the front 
sight in contact with the bottom of your object. 
Got it? Try it again. Now we’ll load. Now 
try it.” 

Paul, a loaded rifle in his hands for the first 
time, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The 
shot went wild. 

“ You closed your eyes at the last moment, 
and wobbled the gun,” said Remington. 

“ Guess I did,” admitted Paul. “ I was 
afraid to be so near the explosion.” 

“ Well, throw in another cartridge. That’s 
right. Throw the lever forward; now back. 
Be careful! It leaves it cocked, you see. 
Always remember, when you ’re not going to 
shoot again immediately, to put the hammer 
[28] 


THE FIRST BEAR 


down, and never carry a cocked gun. That’s 
a bad habit some sportsmen have, but a man 
that is n’t quick enough to cock his gun after 
he sees his game should practice until he can 
do it, and never go out with his gun until he 
can. With a rifle it’s never well to carry a 
cartridge in the chamber. You can throw one 
in as quickly as you need it. Now try again.” 

Bang! The shot struck just beneath the bit 
of ice. 

“Bully! Bully!” exclaimed Remington 
and Ainsworth together. 

Paul flushed with pleasure and excitement. 
With the next shot he took more careful aim, 
and simultaneously with the crack of the rifle 
bits of splintered ice flew from the floating 
cake. This was indeed a good shot, for by this 
time the vessel had left the ice well behind. 

“How was that?” asked Paul, with con¬ 
scious pride. 

“ Good work! ” Remington encouraged. 

Several more practice shots were fired with 
varying success, the rifle cleaned, and Rem¬ 
ington and Ainsworth went below to overhaul 
their fishing outfit. 


[29] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Paul, with just pride in his initial achieve¬ 
ment with the rifle, strolled forward to exhibit 
his gun to Dan, who was splicing a rope near 
the foremast, and had been an interested spec¬ 
tator of the target practice. 

“ Hello, Dan,” he greeted. 

“ Hello, Paul. Been ailin’ ? ” 

“ Ailing! I was awfully sick for two days.” 

“ We were havin’ a bit of nasty sea. ’ T is 
bad for the seasickness.” 

“ You bet it got me, all right. Would you 
like to see my rifle? ” 

“ Yes, I were wantin’ t’ see un.” Dan took 
the rifle, looked it over, threw it up to his 
shoulder and sighted it, like one accustomed 
to the use of firearms. 

“ She’s a wonderful fine gun!” he ex¬ 
claimed. “ A rare fine gun! An’ she’s pretty, 
too. I never seen such a fine gun — and such 
a pretty un.” 

“ Can you shoot? ” 

“ I does some shootin’. I hunts with Dad 
in winter. He traps furs in winter, and he’s 
took me with him two winters.” 

“ Did you ever shoot anything? ” 


THE FIRST BEAR 


“ Oh, yes; lots of partridges and rabbits. 
Last fall I kills a deer and gets a crack at a 
bear, but misses; and last winter I shoots two 
foxes.” 

“ You must be a dandy hunter. I’ve never 
hunted any yet, but I expect to. Never went 
before where there was anything to hunt. 
This is my first gun. I’ve got a shotgun too.” 

“ That’s the gun for partridges, unless you 
shoots their heads off with the rifle. Mostly I 
shoots their heads off with a rifle, but some¬ 
times I misses. Mine’s a 44 — Dad’s old 
one. He got a new 30-30 and gave me his old 
one.” 

“ I’d like to see it. You got it with you? ” 

“Yes, it’s down in the fo’c’sl.” 

“Here! Bring your gun, youngster! Bring 
your gun! Here’s a shot for you!” called 
Captain Bluntt. “ Here now! ” 

Paul ran forward. 

“Where? What is it?” he asked excit¬ 
edly. 

“There, on that pan! That yellow spot. 
See un? See un? That’s a water bear, and 
he’s asleep. Get ready now and shoot un! ” 
[31] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

Paul’s excitement was intense. He nerv¬ 
ously slipped some cartridges in the magazine 
and raised the rifle to his shoulder. 

“ Set up your sights, lad! Set up your 
sights! And cock your piece! Cock your 
piece! You can’t shoot till she’s cocked. 
Dan, look sharp now, an’ tell the gentlemen 
there’s a bear sighted! Now, youngster! 
Now! Do n’t hurry. Take your time. Why 
you ’re shakin’! Steady down! Steady down! 
That’s right. Careful! ” 

With tremendous effort Paul steadied his 
nerves, and bang! The yellow spot rose. Sure 
enough, it was a bear, and it began to bite at 
its side. 

“You hit un! You hit un, lad! Fine! 
Fine! Give un another!” 

Paul fired again, but his nerves had got the 
better of him, and the shot went wide, as did 
several other shots. Captain Bluntt rang the 
engines to “ stop,” as Remington and Ains¬ 
worth, rifles in hand, reached the deck. The 
bear had slipped off the ice pan and taken to 
the water; at which Remington called — 

“ Launch the power boat! ” 

[32] 


THE FIRST BEAR 


In a jiffy Captain Bluntt had men at the 
ropes. 

“ Come, Paul, we ’re going after him,” said 
Remington. 

“Take the tiller, Dan! Take the tiller of 
that boat! ” commanded the Captain. 

In less time than it requires to relate, the 
boat was off and in pursuit, Dan steering with 
skill, Remington, Ainsworth, and Paul ready 
with their rifles. 


[ 33 ] 


CHAPTER III 

A HUSKY CAMP 


^PHE boat gained upon the bear rapidly, 
and had nearly overtaken it when sud¬ 
denly it turned to the left, interposing a small 
pan of ice between it and its pursuers, effect¬ 
ually hiding it from their view. 

Dan made a short cut around the opposite 
side of the pan, and as the boat shot out behind 
the ice its bow nearly struck the bear. The 
pursuers were no less surprised than the pur¬ 
sued, and as the boat darted past, the bear 
made a vicious lunge with its powerful paw, 
caught it amidships and nearly capsized it. 

Dan made a graceful swing, and brought 
the hunters almost too close to the animal to 
permit the use of guns. It charged them 
again, but Dan, on the lookout for this 
maneuver, neatly avoided it. 

“ Now, Paul,” advised Remington, 
“ shoot! ” 


[ 34 ] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


The bear was less than twenty feet from the 
boat, but Paul was still in so high a state of 
excitement that he missed two shots, and it 
was only at the third attempt that he struck 
the animal in the head, and it collapsed. 

“ It’s a stunning big fellow!” Remington 
declared, while he slipped a rope over the 
animal’s neck to tow it to the ship. 

“ That was a splendid shot from the ship — 
I doubt if I could have made it,” said Ains¬ 
worth. “ And you’ve got the first game of 
the trip, Paul.” 

“ ’T were a rare fine shot,” put in Dan. “ I 
were standin’ by, an’ I’ve missed many a 
better.” 

When the bear was at length hoisted on 
deck it proved indeed to be a monster polar 
bear, and Captain Bluntt declared it one of 
the largest he had ever seen. 

Paul’s pleasure was beyond bounds. His 
face, which was already losing its sallow, 
yellow appearance, glowed with delight. He 
was in a fair way to have his head turned by 
the unstinted praise of his companions. 

The fine smoking roast which came on the 
[ 35 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


supper table that evening certainly had an 
appetizing appearance, but when Paul 
received a helping he fancied he detected a 
fishy odor, and when he tasted the meat he 
made a wry face and exclaimed: 

“ Ugh! Why, it’s strong with fish! ” 

“ A bit fishy in flavor, lad. A bit fishy,” 
agreed Captain Bluntt. “ But a man o’ the 
sea and a sportsman should n’t mind that.” 

“ Well I do n’t like it,” asserted Paul, “ but 
I killed it and I’m going to eat some of it 
anyway.” 

“ That’s the right spirit,” said Remington, 
“ but I think I ’ll pass it by. I never could 
bring myself to eat polar bear or seal. Per¬ 
haps because I never had to.” 

“ I can’t say that I care for it,” admitted 
Ainsworth. 

“ ’T is fine meat, I thinks,” declared Cap¬ 
tain Bluntt, helping himself liberally. “ I 
finds it fine. Bear’s meat is rare strong meat.” 

“ I do n’t think I can go it,” said Paul, who 
had tried another mouthful. u It’s strong, 
all right — too strong of fish for me.” 

“ I were n’t meanin’ that kind o’ strong:. 

[ 36 ] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


No, no! ’T is good, wholesome, strengthenin’ 
meat. ’T is not so high flavored of fish, either, 
as old swile, an’ swile is good.” 

“ Swile? What’s that? ” asked Paul. 

“ Seal, lad, seal. We calls un swile in New¬ 
foundland and down on the Labrador. Swile 
an’ ice bears live on fish, lad, and ’t is but 
natural they should carry a bit of the flavor 
of fish. That rascal the cook should have 
given un an extra parboil.” 

“ I did n’t suppose any one but Eskimos 
ate seal.” 

“ Only Eskimos eat seal! No, no, lad! We 
all eats un an’ likes un. Old seal is a bit high 
flavored, but white coats I finds as sweet an’ 
fine as mutton or fowl.” 

“What are white coats?” 

“Never heard of white coats? Well! 
Well! You sure has some things to learn of 
the North. White coats is young seals — very 
young uns.” 

“ I never heard them called that.” Paul 
felt some resentment at the implication that 
he was not well informed. 

The sun went down that night in a blaze 
[ 37 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


of wondrous glory. No human artist would 
dare be so prodigal with his colors or resort to 
such marvelous blendings of shades as the 
Almighty Artist paints into His sunsets upon 
the sky of the Arctic and sub-Arctic regions. 
The sunset on this occasion was unusually gor¬ 
geous. Brilliant reds shaded up into opal¬ 
escent purples, deep orange into lighter yel¬ 
low, reaching to the very dome of heaven. 
The water reflected the red, and the North 
Star seemed steaming through a mighty heav¬ 
ing, throbbing sea of blood. It was as though 
the earth’s very heart had been laid bare. 

For a long time it lasted. Paul and his 
friends stood enthralled. It made them 
breathe deeply. They felt that they were in 
the presence of some mighty power, that very 
near them was the Master Himself, He who 
guides the world in its eternal journey, and 
holds in their places the innumerable mil¬ 
lions of stars and untold other worlds that 
reach out into infinite space. 

“ Is n’t this wonderful — wonderful! ” 
exclaimed Paul, at the end of a period of 
breathless awe. 


[ 38 ] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


“ I never saw anything to compare with 
it!” declared Ainsworth. “It’s beyond the 
dreams of my wildest imagination! ” 

“ It’s nowhere but in the North that such 
sunsets are ever seen,” said Remington. 

“ Fine sunset, sir. Fine sunset,” remarked 
Captain Bluntt, as he passed them on his way 
to the chart house. 

“ It promises a good day tomorrow, does n’t 
it? ” asked Remington 

“ Not so sure of that, sir. Not so sure of 
that.” 

Captain Bluntt’s pessimistic prophecy of 
the morrow’s weather was well founded. 
When day broke the sea was enveloped in a 
blanket of fog — thick, stifling, impenetrable. 
The rigging dripped moisture, the decks were 
wet and slippery, the atmosphere was heavy, 
clammy, difficult to breathe. 

For two days the fog lay over the sea like 
a pall. The North Star, her engines working 
at slow speed, felt her way cautiously, for she 
was in uncharted waters. The tremendous 
tides of Ungava Bay render navigation here 
dangerous, even under the most favorable con- 
[ 39 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

ditions, and Captain Bluntt was not the man 
to take undue risks, though he was a fearless 
seaman, and in his time had done many dash¬ 
ing and daring deeds, when circumstances 
had demanded. 

Following the fog came several hours of 
cold dismal rain, accompanied by sleet 
Then the clouds broke, and as though some 
fairy hand had brushed them away, the sky 
cleared and the sun shone warm and beautiful 
to cheer the depressed world. 

“ And there lies Cape Wolstenholm, sir,” 
said Captain Bluntt, pointing toward a low- 
lying coast off their port bow. “ We ’ll soon 
be in Hudson Bay now, sir, and what’s your 
pleasure? ” 

“ While the fine weather holds I think 
we’d better do some fishing,” answered Rem¬ 
ington. “ Besides, I think we all want to 
get ashore to stretch our legs.” 

“ As you say— as you say, sir! But we ’ll 
have to locate some huskies, sir, and get a 
native pilot.” 

Upon rounding Cape Wolstenholm, which 
occupies the northwestern extremity of the 
[40] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


Labrador peninsula, the ship swung in close 
to the coast, and, proceeding with great care, 
the leadsman calling his fathoms, felt its way 
between several small islands, until, the fol¬ 
lowing morning, a safe anchorage was found 
outside a large island near the head of Mos¬ 
quito Bay. 

“ We ’ll be sure to find huskies up this bay, 
sir,” assured Captain Bluntt. “ We can’t risk 
the ship any farther, sir. It won’t do, sir. 
But it’s a short run for the power boat to the 
head of that bay, and unless I’m mistaken 
there ’ll be plenty of huskies there, sir. Yes, 
sir, plenty of’em. I’ll send Tom Hand. Tom 
Hand speaks their lingo. Tom! Tom 
Hand! ” he called. 

“ Aye, aye, sir.” 

“ Go ashore, Tom. We wants a husky pilot; 
a good one. A good husky, now! Dan! Here, 
you rascal! Go ashore with Tom, and help 
him look after things! ” 

“ Come, fellows, we ’ll go along,” suggested 
Remington to Ainsworth and Paul. “ We ’ll 
not be in the way, will we, Captain.” 

“No, no! Go ashore if you likes. Better 
[41] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

take some grub with you. Dan, tell the cook 
to put up some grub! Look sharp, now!” 

Presently they were off, pointing toward 
the head of the inner bay. Paul took three 
or four shots at harbor seals which raised their 
heads now and again above the water, but 
always missed them. 

' “ ’T is wonderful hard t’ hit un from a 

boat,” said Tom. 

| Soon they discovered a column of smoke 
rising from the north shore. 

“ There un is! Turn she in t’ th’ smoke, 
Dan,” directed Tom. “ Th’ huskies is camped 
in there. Th’ smoke is a signal t’ call us t’ 
un. They’s seen us.” 

Dan swung the boat in, and upon rounding 
a point and entering a cove two skin tents or 
wigwams were discovered, and several people 
gathered upon the shore as if expecting them. 

“ There’s th’ huskies, an’ their families; 
leastways they has two tupeks,” commented 
Tom. 

“Tupeks?” asked Paul. 

“ Aye — skin tents. In summer they lives 
in skin tents, an’ in winter in snow igloos.” 

[42] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


“ They seem to be all men and boys,” said 
Paul. 

“ No, they’s women too, but husky women 
wears trousers. You ’ll see th’ difference 
when we comes closter.” 

“Well, they are a rocky looking crowd!” 
exclaimed Paul. 

There were two men, three women and four 
children, one a half-grown girl. All wore 
skin garments and were bareheaded, their 
long black hair, coarse and straight, reaching 
to the shoulders. One of the women carried 
an infant in her hood, and its round, bright 
eyes peered wonderingly over the mother’s 
shoulders at the intruders. 

“ Oksunae,” greeted Tom upon stepping 
ashore. 

“ Oksunae,” answered the Eskimos, who 
came forward laughing to shake hands with 
their visitors, their round, greasy faces beam¬ 
ing good nature and welcome. 

Tom began his negotiations at once, con¬ 
versing with the Eskimos in their native 
tongue, for they could understand no English. 

“ Ainsworth and I are going up this stream 
[ 43 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


a little way to try the salmon. Want to go 
along, Paul?” asked Remington. 

“ No, I ’ll get fishing enough later. Guess 
I ’ll stay and look this crowd over.” 

“ All right. Do n’t make eyes at that young 
Eskimo girl.” 

“No fear!” 

Skulking about were several big, vicious 
looking dogs, which reminded Paul of timber 
wolves he had seen at the Zoo. 

“ I do n’t like the looks of those beasts,” said 
he. “ Are they dangerous? ” 

“ They’re cowards so long as you keeps on 
your feet an’ has somethin’ handy to beat un 
with,” reassured Dan. “ Your gun ’ll do for 
that. But let un get th’ best o’ you once, an’ 
they ’ll just rip you up like wolves. They is 
wolves.” 

“ They look it,” agreed Paul. 

The lads wandered about the encampment, 
examining the kayaks and crude hunting im¬ 
plements and paraphernalia of the Eskimos. 
Upon approaching the tupeks a stench met 
their nostrils, which they found came from 
half putrid seal meat and fish within. 

[ 44 ] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


“ They eats wonderful bad meat,” remarked 
Dan. 

“Why, they don’t eat that stuff!” ex¬ 
claimed Paul. 

“ Yes they does,” said Dan. 

“ What pigs they must be! ” 

“ No, ’t is just th’ way they always been used 
to doin’. They has wonderful hard times t’ 
get things t’ eat sometimes.” 

At the end of an hour Remington and Ains¬ 
worth returned. 

“ Not a strike,” said Remington, “ though 
I’m certain there are plenty of salmon in the 
stream. We ’re a little far north for them to 
take the fly. But Ainsworth got our dinner. 
That’s something.” 

“ Ran into a bunch of ptarmigans,” said 
Ainsworth, holding up a half dozen birds. 

“ How are you making out with the huskies, 
Tom?” asked Remington of Tom, who had 
joined them. 

“ Kuglutuk, th’ old un, sir, will go with us. 
He’s ready to start any time, sir. We has t’ 
land him at Cape Smith or Cape Wolsten- 
holm, sir, when we comes back.” 

[ 45 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ All right, Tom. Can’t we get brush 
enough around here to broil these grouse and 
make some coffee? I’m famished.” 

“ Yes, sir. Dan, get th’ axe, b’y, an’ put on 
a fire, whilst I dresses th’ birds.” 

When Tom drew the birds, to Paul’s 
amazement the Eskimos gathered up the 
entrails, placed them on the end of a stick, 
broiled them slightly over the fire Dan had 
lighted, and ate them as they might a delicacy. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Paul. “I’d 
starve before I’d do that! ” 

“ Maybe,” said Tom, “ but I’m thinkin’ 
you’d eat un an’ like un if you was hungry 
enough. They’s no tellin’ what a man ’ll eat. 
Th’ huskies eats un because they likes un, an’ 
entrails ain’t so bad, an’ you gets used t’ un, 
though I’m hopin’ you ’ll never have t’ eat 
un, lad.” 

“ I never would,” positively asserted Paul. 
“ I’d die first.” 

Luncheon eaten, they bade adieu to the 
Eskimos, shaking hands again all around. 
Kuglutuk, his kayak in tow, took his place in 
the power boat, “ Oksunae ” was shouted by 
[46] 


A HUSKY CAMP 


those afloat and those on land, and the little 
settlement was quickly lost sight of around 
the point at the entrance of the cove. 

On board the North Star again, a confer¬ 
ence was held as to the most probable point at 
which salmon and trout could be found, Tom 
acting as interpreter. It was at length de¬ 
cided, upon Kuglutuk’s recommendation, to 
visit the rivers flowing into Richmond Gulf, 
which, considerably farther south, offered 
greater promise that salmon would take the 
fly, though Kuglutuk assured them that both 
varieties of fish abounded in all the streams 
of the coast. 

Three days later found the North Star in 
the latitude of Richmond Gulf, and with 
much careful maneuvering under the guid¬ 
ance of Kuglutuk, and with frequent heaving 
of the lead, a safe anchorage was found in 
Nastapoka Sound, behind the islands which 
shut out the wider sea beyond. 

The entrance to Richmond Gulf is an 
exceedingly narrow, treacherous channel, 
through which Kuglutuk declared no vessel 
so large as the North Star could pass in safety. 

[ 47 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Through this channel he said the rising and 
ebbing tide poured with so terrific a rush 
of the waters that dangerous whirlpools were 
formed, which rendered its safe passage for 
kayaks and small craft impossible save at the 
time of the turning of the tide. 

It was late afternoon when the ship made 
her anchorage, and it was decided to prepare 
for the passage of the dangerous strait in the 
power boat when the tide should reach flood 
at ten o’clock the next morning. 

Kuglutuk, Tom Hand and Dan Rudd were 
to accompany the three sportsmen, and it was 
planned that the party should carry a full 
camping equipment, and remain at the head 
of Richmond Gulf one week. 

The weather was propitious — mild, clear, 
delightful. This was to be Paul’s first expe¬ 
rience in camp. Before him lay a rugged, 
unpeopled, unknown wilderness. He was to 
enter it and be a part of it. The romance of 
it thrilled him, and he lay awake that night 
a long while, feasting anticipation and imag¬ 
ination, too restless to sleep. 


[48] 


CHAPTER IV 

THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


rjpHE passage of the channel leading 
into Richmond Gulf was accomplished 
without adventure, and within the gulf the 
power boat took a northeasterly direction, 
passing several small islands. Many wild 
ducks, gulls and other water fowl and birds 
flew about the islands, hovered over the water 
or rested upon the waves. 

Presently Kuglutuk turned the boat into the 
mouth of a river, and ascending the stream 
for a little distance, against a strong current, 
made a landing near the foot of a rushing, 
tumultuous rapid. 

“ Tom,” declared Remington, when they 
were ashore, “ I’m as hungry as seven bears. 
Fry some bacon and make some coffee, won’t 
you, before you pitch the tents?” 

“ Aye, aye, sir. We ’ll put on a fire an’ 
have un ready in a jiffy. Dan, b’y, bring up 
the things from the boat.” 

[ 49 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Come fellows, we ’ll get our rods up while 
Tom’s getting dinner,” suggested Remington. 
“ I’m aching to try my luck.” 

“ Which of these rods shall I use?” asked 
Paul. “ I never used a rod in my life, and I 
guess you ’ll have to show me.” 

“Try this one,” selecting a good weight 
steel fly rod. “ That’s got strength, and if 
you strike a big one you ’re not so likely to 
break it as that lighter one. You ’ll be able to 
handle the lighter one after some practice.” 

In the meantime Tom cut a pole about 
eight feet in length, sharpened the butt, which 
he jabbed firmly into the earth, inclined it at 
an angle over a fire which Kuglutuk had 
kindled with moss and dead sticks, and in such 
a position that the upper end of the stick came 
directly over the blaze. On this he hung a 
kettle of water. Then he sliced bacon. In ten 
minutes the water had boiled, coffee was 
made, the kettle removed from the stick, 
placed close to the fire on the ground, and the 
bacon sizzling in the pan. 

“Oh, cracky!” said Paul, sniffing the air, 
“ that’s the best thing I ever smelled.” 

[50] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


“ Does n’t it smell bully! ” exclaimed Rem¬ 
ington. u I thought I’d have time to make a 
cast or two before Tom was ready for us, but 
he’s been too quick for me.” 

“ Now,” said Remington, when they were 
through eating, “ we ’ll see if there are any 
hungry fish in that pool.” 

Paul looked on while the older sportsmen 
made one or two casts. Then he attempted 
it, at first very clumsily, but gradually im¬ 
proving. He was not very enthusiastic, 
however. 

“ I do n’t see any fun in this,” he said 
finally. 

“ Keep at it, and you ’ll learn,” encouraged 
Remington. 

At that moment “ whiz-z-z ” and Ains¬ 
worth’s reel fairly hummed, with forty yards 
of line run out before he could check it — a 
flash of spray — a great silver bar in the air! 
The leap was full two feet! Splash! It 
doubled, demanded more line, fought as only 
a salmon can fight, the supple steel rod bent 
and curved, but the angler, his face tense with 
excitement, held his advantage. 

[5i] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“Good! Bully!” shouted Remington 
with each play. “Look out! That’s the 
way! Easy! That’s it!” 

Again and again the fish fought for the 
head of the rapid, but at length, conquered, 
it was drawn in, and with Remington’s assist¬ 
ance landed — a fine big salmon. 

“That was great!” exclaimed Paul. 
“ Guess there is some fun in it after all.” 

“ Fun! Just strike one, and you ’ll say it’s 
the best ever! ” Ainsworth was justly proud. 

A few minutes later, “ Whiz-z-z ” again, 
and “ Whiz-z-z! ” Two silver flashes! Two 
fountains of spray! Two mighty splashes! 
Paul and Remington had each hooked a 
salmon at nearly the same instant! And then 
there was fun! Ainsworth could hardly con¬ 
tain himself as he watched the play, shouting 
directions and cautions to one and the other. 
There was danger of getting their lines 
tangled when both fish darted up stream at 
once, or made dives for the bank at the same 
time, in efforts to free themselves. Finally 
Paul’s fish rushed in upon him, gained slack 
line, shook loose the hook and was free. 

[52] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


Paul could have cried with disappointment 
and vexation. 

“Just my luck I” he exclaimed, as he saw 
Remington land a fine salmon. 

“ Oh, no, do n’t get discouraged. You did 
mighty well for the first time,” encouraged 
Remington. 

“ I notice you landed yours, all right,” said 
Paul pettishly. 

“ But I may lose the next one. The uncer¬ 
tainty of whether you ’ll land them or not 
after you’ve hooked them is half the fun.” 

“ I can’t see that-” 

“ Whiz-z-z ”— away went his line again 
before he could finish. For half an hour, 
directed by Remington, he played the fish, 
and was at length rewarded with as fine a 
salmon as Ainsworth’s — considerably larger 
than Remington’s. 

“What fun! Oh, but it’s great!” he 
exclaimed as, all a-tremble with excitement, 
he examined his catch. 

“ They ’re here all right, and they ’re tak¬ 
ing flies. We’ve got all the fish Tom can 
take care of todav, and we’ve had a week’s 
[53] 



THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


fun in two hours. What do you fellows say 
to climbing that barren hill?” suggested 
Remington. “ I’m anxious to see what the 
country is like behind those cliffs.” 

Paul was loath to go. The sport had set 
his blood a-tingling with excitement and he 
would much have preferred to remain behind 
and fish, but Ainsworth agreed with Reming¬ 
ton, and his sense of courtesy to his host bade 
him join them. 

“ We ’ll stretch our lines to dry before we 
go, Paul. Never put your line up wet or it 
will rot, and some day you ’ll lose a fine fish,” 
advised Remington, who had noticed Paul 
lean his rod against a tree. 

Their lines stretched, they wandered up the 
defile down which the river plunged in its 
mad impatience to reach the sea. Here they 
were in a dark forest of stunted spruce, but 
very quickly, as they began the ascent of the 
hill, trees gave way to straggling brush, and 
brush at length to bare rocks. 

“ There’s a view for you,” said Reming¬ 
ton when the summit was reached. 

“Magnificent!” exclaimed Ainsworth. 

[54] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 

“ Pretty rough country.” 

“ But grand! Stupendously grand!” 

To the west, a shimmering vista, lay Hud¬ 
son Bay; to the east, to the north, to the south, 
stretched a tumbled, boundless mass of rocky 
ridges, interspersed with starved forests of 
spruce. Here and there a lake sparkled in 
the distance. Below them the river, a twist¬ 
ing, winding thread of silver, coursed down 
to the sea. 

The sensations that had come to Paul in 
Hudson Strait when he first beheld the distant 
wilderness and the sailless sea, thrilled him 
again — first fear and shrinking, then an 
inward, inexplicable sense of power and 
freedom. 

“ And no one lives there,” he said, more to 
himself than to his companions. 

“ No one but Indians,” said Remington. 
“ Eskimos on the coast. They all live as close 
to nature as man can live, and they fight that 
wilderness pretty constantly for existence. 
It’s a land of the survival of the fittest.” 

Later, on other occasions during their stay 
in Richmond Gulf, Paul visited the barren 
[55] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


hill. He would steal away alone, and for an 
hour at a time sit upon its rocky summit, and 
revel in the rugged beauties of the landscape. 
Here he felt a something well up within him, 
a desire to do something—an indescribable 
longing he could not define. 

The lure and the power of the wilderness 
were exerting their influence. This was the 
world just as God had made it, untouched 
by the hand of man. Rugged mountains, 
patches of green forests, sparkling lakes, the 
distant sea, the blue sky, and silence. There 
were no brick walls to limit the vision, no tall 
chimneys belching out smudges of black 
smoke to defile the atmosphere, no rushing 
crowd to distract. Nowhere does one get so 
close to God as in the wilderness. The wil¬ 
derness is the temple of pure thoughts, of high 
ambitions. Here man’s soul expands as no¬ 
where else on earth. 

When the three returned to camp they 
found the tents set up and everything snug 
and in order. A fragrant and cozy seat of 
spruce boughs had been arranged by Dan and 
Kuglutuk before a roaring log fire, and, by 
[56] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


no means the least attractive of the prepara¬ 
tions, a delicious supper of salmon awaited 
them, which they attacked with a will, for the 
exercise had given them an unusual appetite. 

“ I never ate such fish before,” Paul de¬ 
clared, between mouthfuls. 

When supper was finished the two men 
lighted cigars, and chatted, while Paul re¬ 
clined upon the boughs and gazed into the 
blaze. Presently Tom and Dan joined them, 
and Dan, producing his harmonica, began to 
play a soft, low air, while Tom cut some 
tobacco from a plug, rolled it between the 
palms of his hands, stuffed it into a pipe, 
lighted it with a brand from the fire and 
handing the plug to Kuglutuk who followed 
his example, contentedly settled back to smoke 
and enjoy the warmth, for the evening was 
chilly. 

“ Them was fine salmon you gets this 
evenin’,” Tom remarked. 

“ Yes,” said Remington, “ fine ones, and I 
hope we ’ll have more tomorrow.” 

“Dandies!” broke in Paul, “and dandy 
fun landing them! ” 


[57] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Yes, ’t is rare sport landin’ un. And does 
you like troutin’? ” 

“ Yes, to be sure. We expected to get trout 
here,” answered Remington. 

“ Th’ husky’s tellin’ me they’s plenty to 
be had a bit up the streams, sir, and big uns — 
wonderful big uns, by his tell, sir.” 

“ We ’ll have to try them tomorrow.” 

“ Where did you learn to speak Eskimo, 
Tom?” asked Ainsworth. 

“ Where’d I learn un, sir? I never learned 
un. I alius knew un. I were born, sir, on 
the Labrador. My mother were a woman of 
Zoar, sir, an’ a half-breed. They talks mostly 
husky thereabouts. The first words she ever 
says to me, sir, was husky, an’ when I were a 
wee lad she talks all her baby talk to me in 
husky.” 

“ But your father was a white man? ” 

“ Oh, aye, sir, he were from Conception 
Bay. He were down on the Labrador fishin’, 
an’ he meets my mother, an’ likes she, an’ th’ 
missionary marries un. Then he stays at Zoar 
an’ traps in winter, an’ there I were born, sir.” 

“ Are your parents still living, then? ” 

[58] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


“ Oh, no, sir. They both dies when I were 
a bit of a lad, sir — seven year old or there¬ 
abouts. ’T were in winter, an’ my father is 
out to his traps. My mother expects him 
home in th’ evenin’, an’ when it gets dark an’ 
he never comes she’s much worried, for he’s 
always before cornin’ when he’s promisin’, 
sir. He were a wonderful true man t’ keep 
his word, sir, even t’ wallopin’ me when I 
does things he’s denied me to do, an’ is 
deservin’ th’ wallopin’. 

“ Well, as th’ evenin’ gets on an’ he’s not 
cornin’, my mother cries a bit an’ says some¬ 
thin’ s been befallin’ he, sir, out in the bush, 
an’ when she rouses me from sleep before the 
break of day th’ next mornin’, she’s in a 
wonderful bad state worryin’. She tells me 
she’s goin’t’ look for he, an’ I’m t’ watch th’ 
baby. 

“ She goes, sir, an’ she do n’t come back 
that day or that night or th’ next day. Snow 
comes failin’ thick an’ th’ weather grows 
dreadful nasty. Th’ baby cries most o’ th’ 
time, an’ I carries un some. I knows th’ 
baby’s hungry, but I has no way t’ feed un. 

[ 59 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


After awhile it stops cryin’ when I lays un on 
th’ bed. 

“ That were a wonderful cold night, sir. 
When mornin’ comes th’ baby’s still quiet, an’ 
I says to myself, ‘ I ’ll let un sleep.’ 

“ Th’ bread’s all gone, an’ I only has a bit 
of salt fish t’ eat, an’ th’ fire I puts on in th’ 
stove burns slow. But th’ snow’s stopped in 
th’ night. 

“ Th’ baby do n’t cry no more, but I does, 
for I do n’t know why my father an’ mother 
do n’t come, an’ I’m cryin’ when I hears dogs 
outside. I wipes away th’ tears quick, for I’m 
wantin’ no one t’ catch me cryin’. 

“ Then in comes th’ Moravian missionary 
from Nain, a wonderful kind man. He asks 
where my mother is. I tells he how my 
mother goes away to look for my father an’ 
never comes back, an’ th’ hard time I has. 
That th’ baby were hungry, but she’s sleepin’ 
now. 

“ He goes an’ looks at un, an’ then very 
quiet he covers un over with th’ blanket, an’ 
puttin’ his hand on my head an’ lookin’ in my 
eyes, he says: ‘ Is you brave, lad? We all 
[60] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 

has troubles, lad, an’ you must be brave to 
meet yours.’ 

“ Then he calls old Muklutuk, his driver, 
to bring in some grub. They puts on a good 
fire, an’ gives me a plenty t’ eat, an’ goes away 
sayin’ they ’ll be back by night. 

“ When they comes back the missionary 
holds me up to him, and he says, very kind: 
‘ Lad, I’m goin’ to take you to a new home, 
for your father and mother has been called 
away to heaven by th’ Lord. He ’ll be 
needin’ ’em there, an’ they can’t come back 
t’ you, but th’ Lord wants me t’ take you with 
me.’ 

“ I were wonderful lonesome when he says 
that, at not seein’ mother an’ father again, but 
I holds back th’ tears, for mother has often 
been tellin’ me that some day th’ Lord might 
be callin’ she or father away t’ live in heaven, 
an’ not t’ cry or feel bad about un, for’t would 
be right, as everything th’ Lord done were 
right. 

“ Well, th’ missionary takes me on his 
komatik t’ th’ station where he lives, an’ th’ 
women there cries over me an’ makes a won- 
[61] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

derful lot o’ me, an’ every one there is wonder¬ 
ful kind.” 

“ What had happened to your father and 
mother? ” asked Ainsworth, after a pause. 

“ I were cornin’ t’ that. He’d been meetin’ 
with an accident, his gun goin’ off an’ shootin’ 
his foot off. She finds him in th’ snow, an’ 
tries t’ carry him home, but’t were too much 
for she, an’ when it comes on t’ snow again 
she sticks to him, an’ they both freezes t’ 
death. Leastwise that’s what th’ missionary 
thinks, for he finds un froze stone dead. 
Mother has her arms around father, holdin’ 
he close to her bosom, as though tryin’ to keep 
he warm. 

“ So you sees, sir, how I come t’ speak th’ 
Eskimo lingo. My mother were a half-breed 
of th’ Labrador.” 

“ The baby? ” asked Paul, much moved by 
the story. “ What became of that? ” 

“ The baby were dead for a long while ere 
th’ missionary comes.” 

Tom rose and threw some fresh wood on 
the fire, cut some fresh tobacco from his plug, 
refilled his pipe, and sat down again. 

[62] 


THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 


“ But you live in Newfoundland now, 
Tom?” Remington asked. 

“ Oh, aye, sir. My father’s brother comes 
down t’ the Labrador fishing the next sum¬ 
mer, and takes me home with he. I ’d like 
wonderful well for you t’ meet my woman, 
and my little lad and lass, sir. There’s no 
likelier lad and lass on the coast, sir. They ’re 
wonderful likely, sir.” 

Dan resumed his soft music on the har¬ 
monica. Twilight gave way to darkness. 
Beyond the campfire’s circle of light the for¬ 
est lay black. Below them the rapid roared. 
In the North the aurora flashed up its 
gorgeous glory. 

“ Well,” said Remington at length, rising, 
“ I reckon it’s time to turn in for we want to 
be out early and make the most of our time.” 

His warm sleeping bag seemed very cozy 
to Paul when he crawled into it, this first 
night he had ever spent in camp, the perfume 
of his spruce bough bed very sweet, and 
quickly he fell into deep and restful slumber, 
to be suddenly awakened by the sharp report 
of a rifle. 


[63] 


CHAPTER V 


WRECKED 

T T was broad daylight. Remington and 
Ainsworth were gone. Bang! Bang! 
Bang! The shots came in quick succession, 
and not far above the camp. Paul was fright¬ 
ened for a moment, then highly excited. He 
disentangled himself from his sleeping bag, 
sprang to the front of the tent and shouted to 
Tom, who was unconcernedly cooking break¬ 
fast: 

“ What is it? What’s up?” 

“ Bears.” 

He drew on his clothes as quickly as pos¬ 
sible, grabbed his rifle and ran in the direc¬ 
tion of the shooting. A little way up the 
ravine he came upon Remington, Ainsworth, 
Dan and Kuglutuk, surveying the carcasses 
of two polar bears. 

“ Hello, Paul, you ’re a little late for the 
fun,” greeted Remington. 

[64] 


WRECKED 


“ Got two,” said Ainsworth. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

“ No time for that. Dan was poking 
around up here and saw them coming, and we 
had to hustle as it was.” 

“ It would only have taken a minute to call 
me.” 

“Yes, but that would have been a minute 
too long, if they had happened to get a sniff 
of camp, and only for the north breeze they 
would have anyway, and been off before Dan 
saw them.” 

“ Did they put up any fight? ” 

“ Did n’t have a chance. We got them 
quick. Close shot and no trick at all. Noth¬ 
ing like your shot.” 

“ I’m sorry I was n’t up earlier. What 
were they doing on land? I thought they 
kept to the ice.” 

“No, we’re liable to see them anywhere 
on these shores. Guess they were going down 
to catch a salmon breakfast in our pool at the 
foot of the rapid.” 

They saw no more bears while encamped 
on Richmond Gulf, though they caught 
[65] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


plenty of salmon and trout, and now and again 
took excursions back into the hills and along 
the streams where ptarmigans were found, or 
took advantage of excellent duck and goose 
shooting on near-by lakes. Mallards and 
black ducks were plentiful, great flocks of 
wavies flew overhead and the Canada gray 
goose was fairly numerous. 

The sport was so good, in fact, that the week 
which they had originally planned to remain 
ashore lengthened into two, and it was a fort¬ 
night after their arrival when reluctantly they 
broke camp one morning and returned to the 
North Star f carrying with them enough sal¬ 
mon and trout to supply both cabin and fore¬ 
castle for several days. 

“Glad to see you! Glad to see you!” 
greeted Captain Bluntt as they drew along¬ 
side the ship. “ Good sport? Have a good 
time? ” 

“Bully!” answered Remington. “Never 
better. Salmon and trout hungry for flies, and 
we got two bears in the bargain.” 

“Good! Good, sir! And how did you find 
it, youngster? ” 


[66] 


WRECKED 


“ Fine and dandy,” answered Paul. “ Best 
time I ever had in my life.” 

“ Good! Good! Glad you ’re aboard, Mr. 
Remington — glad you’re aboard. Barom¬ 
eter falling rapidly — outlook for bad 
weather — northeast blow, I’m thinkin’. 
Bad anchorage here. We ’ll make for open 
sea. Get right away. Growing a bit nervous 
about it, sir — just a bit nervous.” 

“ All right, Captain,” said Remington. 
“ We ’re ready to go.” 

Anchor was weighed, and slowly the North 
Star felt her way out of the uncertain waters 
toward the wide bosom of Hudson Bay. 

“ Now,” asked Captain Bluntt, when they 
had gained “ elbow room,” as he expressed it, 
“ what’s your pleasure, sir? ” 

“ Well,” said Remington, “ we want to have 
a little walrus hunting, we’d like to pick up 
another bear or two, and I’m mighty anxious 
to get a crack at caribou before we leave the 
country. Kuglutuk says, though, that all the 
caribou on this side are far inland on the 
highlands, and out of reach. I’ve been think¬ 
ing that we might cross to the other side some- 

[67] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


what south of Chesterfield Inlet, and perhaps 
find caribou there, then cruise back along the 
islands looking for bear, and stop up toward 
Mosquito Bay a few days for our walrus hunt 
before we strike for home. Kuglutuk says 
the Eskimos up there will help us.” 

“Good plan! Good plan, sir! But we 
must try to be through the straits by middle of 
September. Taking chances, sir — taking 
chances with ice if we ’re any later, sir.” 

“ All right, Captain. That ’ll give us over 
three weeks. We won’t spend much time with 
walrus, but we’d like to get two or three heads 
for trophies.” 

The blow that was predicted came. It 
began with driving rain and sleet, which 
swept the sea in blinding sheets, and a rising 
northeast wind pounded Hudson Bay into a 
fury of wild white-crested waves that tossed 
and buffeted the North Star. But Captain 
Bluntt was an able master. He kept well off¬ 
shore, faced the storm, and lay to, using only 
enough power to permit him to hold his posi¬ 
tion, and making no attempt to proceed upon 
the voyage. 


[68] 


WRECKED 


Thus a week was consumed, and September 
was near at hand, when at length the clouds 
wearied of their task, and the sun again shone 
out of a clear sky through a glorious, trans¬ 
parent atmosphere. 

But the northeast gale had reaped a har¬ 
vest of ice from the Arctic waters, sweeping 
it down into Hudson Bay, where the packs 
broke into fragments, and vagrant pans were 
distributed far and wide, steadily working 
their way southward. This was not bay ice 
such as had been encountered off the eastern 
coast of Labrador, but the adamantine prod¬ 
uct of the Arctic. There was little difficulty, 
however, in avoiding the larger and widely 
distributed pans, and the smaller fragments 
bobbing here and there in the swell were quite 
harmless to the strongly built little steamship. 

“ Looks bad for the straits, sir, bad,” re¬ 
marked Captain Bluntt, descending from the 
barrel in the foremast. “ I’m thinkin’ th’ 
straits has plenty of ice now, plenty, sir. Bad 
place to meet ice, sir! Bad place! But if the 
weather holds calm for a week most of it ’ll 
work out.” 


[69] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Are we likely to have trouble getting 
through the straits, Captain?” 

“No! No! We’ll get through all right, 
sir, we ’ll get through, with no more nor Mast¬ 
ers or northers. A bit of a westerly breeze 
would clean the straits, sir, sweep the ice right 
out. Yes, sir, sweep it out! ” 

They turned northward, cruised close in 
along the Ottawa Islands, where Remington 
shot another bear, and then turned westward, 
where at length anchorage was made at 6o° 
north latitude opposite Egg River and nearly 
a mile from its mouth. 

“Not safe to run too close in,” explained 
Captain Bluntt. “Never like to anchor too 
close inshore when I’ve no cover, sir. Not 
safe, not safe. Always afraid of the rocks, 
sir, if a squall should strike me.” 

“ This is near enough,” said Remington. 
“ It’s a short pull to the river mouth.” 

“ Now what’s the plan, sir? Going ashore 
to hunt caribou, you say? Well, you may' 
find them in there around the lakes, sir. Must 
be lakes back there. Yes, sir, and caribou.” 

“ That’s the way we figure it. This is 
[70] 


WRECKED 


Sunday. Tomorrow morning as soon as we 
can see, Ainsworth and I will start, and take 
Kuglutuk with us, and I’d like to have Tom 
if you can spare him, Captain.” 

“Spare him? Yes! Yes! To be sure I 
can spare him.” 

“ We ’re not going to take Paul, for we ’ll 
have some hard tramping to do, and I’m 
afraid he would n’t be able to keep the pace.” 

“No, no, don’t take him. Too soft; 
could n’t stand it. ’T would kill him in a day. 
Yes, sir, in a day.” 

“ We ’ll take one light shelter tent, a blanket 
each, a couple of axes, and besides our rifles 
only four days’ provisions. We can carry 
them easily, and we ’ll be back to the place 
where the boat leaves us on Thursday after¬ 
noon, no later than two o’clock. So a boat 
may come over for us then, and will surely 
find us waiting.” 

“ All right, sir, all right. But suppose you 
gets your deer the first day? What then, sir? ” 

“ Why then we ’ll come down to the shore 
and shoot. If you hear us shooting, why, send 
for us.” 


[7i] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Very good, sir, very good. All very 
good.” 

“ I suppose Paul will set up a kick against 
our leaving him, but it’s out of the question 
to take him. Can’t you let Dan and him have 
a small boat to go ashore every day and hunt 
ptarmigans, or fish in the river? Dan is per¬ 
fectly reliable, is n’t he? ” 

“Yes, yes, sir. Dan reliable? True and 
sure, sir. Good as a man. Good head, sir. 
Good head. Only a lad, sir, but good as a 
man. Be a skipper himself, sir, some day. 
Yes, yes; Dan can take the youngster over.” 

Paul, who had been standing aft, examining 
the coast through binoculars, came forward 
at this juncture to join Remington and Cap¬ 
tain Bluntt. 

“ Pretty rough looking country over there,” 
said he. “What have you planned to do? 
Are we going to hunt caribou? ” 

“ Yes, Ainsworth and I have planned to go 
ashore tomorrow and hike back into the hills 
for three or four days, to see if we can’t run 
on some caribou. I’m afraid, though, you 
are not hardened up enough for it yet. We’ve 
[72] 


WRECKED 


got to travel fast and there ’ll be no sleeping 
bags. You ’ll stay here and Dan will take 
you ashore to hunt and fish, and you can amuse 
yourself that way until we get back on 
Thursday.” 

“Oh, now, that’s pretty tough! I’m sure 
I can walk as fast as you can.” 

“ And carry a back load of stuff? ” 

“ Of course I never tried that, and I do n’t 
see why I should. There are men enough 
to do the work.” 

“ The more men there are the less ground 
can be covered, and this is a hunting trip 
where we’ve got to do fast work, and every 
one must do a man’s work. No, Paul, it’s 
too hard for you. You and Dan can have a 
good time here till we come back.” 

“ There won’t be anything to do here but 
hang around the old ship. I think you might 
let me go with you fellows.” 

“ As I said, you won’t have to hang around 
the ship. You and Dan go ashore. Take one 
of the tents if you’d like, and camp over 
there. Dan knows how to handle things. 
He ’ll give you a good time.” 

[ 73 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Well, I suppose if you do n’t want me I 
can’t go, but I think it’s a pretty rough deal 
just the same,” and he went off sulking. 

Paul had not yet learned that he could not 
have or do anything his fancy craved. But he 
held his host in high esteem. He was thor¬ 
oughly grateful for the opportunity to take 
part in the expedition, and at the end of half 
an hour, when he had had time to consider 
his actions, he became quite ashamed of his 
childishness and his lack of courtesy to his 
host, and, naturally of a frank and open dis¬ 
position, he approached Remington, put out 
his hand and said: 

“ Mr. Remington, I want to apologize for 
the way I acted and what I said awhile ago. 
I’m sorry for it. You’ve given me the great¬ 
est time of my life and I appreciate it.” 

“ That’s all right, Paul,” and Remington 
shook his hand warmly. “ It’s given me a 
lot of pleasure to have you along. I knew 
you’d look at this thing right. I’d like to 
take you with us, but you can see it would 
be too hard work for you. You have n’t been 
at the game long enough yet.” 

[74] 


WRECKED 


“ I guess that’s right.” 

Remington and Ainsworth did not appear 
at breakfast in the morning, and when Paul 
took his seat he asked: 

“Where are the others, Captain?” 

“ Gone. Gone these two hours. Away up 
country by this time. For my part I can’t 
see the fun in it. No, by the imps of the sea! 
Cruising over rocks and mountains just for 
deer. Just for deer! Fun, though, maybe, 
for them that likes it. Yes, maybe’t is. Give 
me th’ sea, an’ a good deck under my feet. 
Good enough for me! Yes, good enough for 
me, or any sensible man.” 

“ Mr. Remington said Dan could go ashore 
with me and camp.” 

“ Yes, yes, of course. Dan knows. I told 
him. Ready any time. Told him to get 
ready. Hope you ’ll have a good time.” 

“ We ’ll have a good time all right.” 

“Cornin’ back tonight? Going to camp? 
Oh, yes, you said you would camp.” 

“ Yes, we ’ll camp. No need of coming 
back till Thursday. The other fellows won’t 
be back till then.” 


[ 75 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Very well, very well; stay till Thursday. 
Two o’clock. Remember be aboard at two 
sharp. Got to get away, get through the 
straits. No being late, now! Remember 
Sydney! Felt like wringing your neck that 
day. I did, by the imps of the sea. Heave 
you overboard or wring your neck if you ’re 
late!” 

Paul glanced up at Captain Bluntt and dis¬ 
covered a good-humored twinkle in the Cap¬ 
tain’s eye, though there was no doubt that he 
was quite in earnest as to the admonition to 
return on time. 

“All right, Captain; we’ll be on time,” 
Paul laughed. 

“ That’s right. That’s right. Always be 
on time. When you says you ’ll do a thing, 
do it.” 

But Paul had not yet learned his lesson. 

Dan stowed sufficient provisions in a light 
punt to meet the needs of a few days’ camping 
excursion, a light axe, a small sheet-iron 
tent stove — for Dan was uncertain of finding 
sufficient wood for an open camp-fire to keep 
them comfortable during the cold evenings — 
[76] 


WRECKED 


a small tent, a tarpaulin, cooking utensils and 
two sleeping bags. Each carried his rifle 
— Dan’s a light 44-40 carbine — and Paul 
did not forget his favorite steel fly rod. 

“Two o’clock Thursday. No later! No 
later than two, now! ” Captain Bluntt admon¬ 
ished as they drew away from the ship. 

The mile to the mouth of Egg River was 
a short pull for Dan, and he found that with 
a little maneuvering he was able to work the 
boat a considerable distance up the river itself, 
to the first clump of straggling spruce trees. 

Here it was decided to make camp, and 
while Dan pitched the tent and put things 
in order Paul wandered up the stream and 
soon had a fine trout on his hook. 

Fishing was good, many delightful tramps 
were taken over the rolling hills, and only too 
quickly Thursday rolled around. 

“ What’s the hour? ” inquired Dan as they 
finished their dinner. 

Paul looked at his watch. 

“ Half past twelve.” 

“ We ’ll have to be gettin’ back t’ th’ ship.” 

“ All right. Pack things up. While you ’re 
[77] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


doing it, guess I ’ll have one more try at the 
fish.” 

“ Now do n’t be goin’ too far,” cautioned 
Dan, who had learned Paul’s failing. “ Th’ 
skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ on time.” 

“ Oh, I won’t go far.” 

Half an hour later, when Dan had the 
camp things stowed neatly in the boat, and 
all was ready for departure, he called: 

“ Hello-o, Paul!” 

No answer. 

He followed up the river bank, calling 
again and again, but had gone nearly a mile 
before he received an answering “Hello!” 

Paul had a big trout hooked, and was 
playing him. 

“ Great sport. Did n’t get a strike till I hit 
this pool just now and this is the second, 
already.” 

“ ’T is time t’ be off,” said Dan, “ and late.” 

“ Oh, there’s no such rush as that. I want 
to take some trout back with me.” 

“ Th’ skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ 
on time.” 

“ Oh, he did n’t mean just two o’clock, but 
[ 78 ] 


WRECKED 


around that time. Besides, they were n’t 
going after the other fellows till two.” 

“ ’T was two o’clock.” 

Dan was patient for fifteen minutes longer, 
while Paul fished. 

“ We can’t tarry, Paul. We must be goin’.” 

“ Now do n’t nag.” 

“ ’T is no naggin’. Th’ skipper ’ll be won¬ 
derful angry.” 

“ Oh, I do n’t think he ’ll mind if we ’re not 
there exactly at two.” 

It was half past two when Dan finally said: 

“ An’ now we ’re goin’,” with a tone of 
finality that angered Paul. 

“ Oh, are we?” Paul was unhooking a 
trout. 

“ Th’ sky looks nasty to me, an’ th’ wind’s 
breezin’ up, an’ there’s a fog settlin’ below.” 

“ I do n’t see any fog, and the sky looks all 
right to me.” 

“ Cornin’?” 

“ No.” 

“ But you is.” 

“ You ain’t my master. I guess I ’ll do as 
I please.” 


[ 79 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ You is cornin'P 

Dan had stepped close to Paul, who was 
preparing to make another cast. 

“ When I get ready.” 

“You is cornin’ now,” and Dan took Paul 
forcibly by the arm. 

“ Let go of me! ” 

“ You is cornin’,” and he tightened his grip. 

“ Take that! ” Paul slapped Dan square in 
the face with open palm. 

Then a whirlwind seemed to strike Paul, 
and before he knew what had taken place 
he found himself on the ground, and Dan on 
top of him. 

“ Is you cornin’? ” 

“ Yes! Let me up! ” Paul was half crying 
with anger. 

“You’ll be sorry for this!” he exclaimed 
when he was free, but he followed Dan sulkily 
down to the boat. 

Dan was right. A fog was settling below. 
Even then it was pushing its way up the river, 
and before they reached the open sea it had 
swallowed up the river bank, which had 
become f <5uite invisible beyond the river’s 
[80] 


WRECKED 


mouth. The boys could scarcely see two 
boat’s lengths ahead. The murky cloud 
enveloped sea, land, everything. Ice pans 
seemed much more numerous than when they 
went ashore. Now and again a pan would 
loom up in the fog, ominously near, rising 
and sinking with the swell. It was uncanny, 
and Paul became frightened. Dan pulled 
steadily at the oars for some time. At length 
he paused. 

“ We should have been cornin’ on she,” said 
he. “ I’m fearin’ we ’re a bit too far t’ th’ 
s ’uthard.” 

He shifted his course somewhat. A moment 
later a huge bulk of ice appeared directly in 
front of them. Dan swerved the boat to port, 
but he was too late, and almost before they 
realized their danger the pan struck them 
with the rising swell, and nearly capsized the 
boat. Water at once poured in through a 
great rent in the starboard bow, and imme¬ 
diately it became apparent they were sinking. 

Like a flash, painter in hand, Dan sprang 
upon the ice pan. 

“ Jump! Quick! ” he shouted to Paul, who, 
[81] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


without knowing how he did it, sprang to 
the pan, slipped, gained his feet, and was 
safe upon the ice. 

“ Take this! Hold un tight! ” commanded 
Dan, passing the painter to Paul. Working 
like mad, while Paul steadied the boat, Dan 
transferred their belongings from boat to pan, 
save one sleeping bag and one oar, which were 
washed away in spite of him. The boat 
lightened of its burdens, he baled the water 
out, and drew its bow around to the ice. 

“Now pull!” He had grabbed the bow 
of the boat. “ Pull! Pull! ” he encouraged, 
and their united strength drew the boat upon 
the pan. 

Paul had not, until then, had an oppor¬ 
tunity to appreciate their position. Now he 
looked about him, and with one glance took 
in the critical situation in which they were 
placed. The pan of ice was not over sixty 
feet in diameter, waves were breaking over 
its edges, they were out of reach of land, the 
boat was quite useless. Then came a flash of 
the imagination — lost in the dark water — 
struggling — drowning. All this he saw in an 
[82] 


WRECKED 


instant. Panic seized him — a wild, awful 
fear of impending death — and he screamed: 

“Help! Help! Save us! Save us! We’re 
lost! Help! Help! Help!” 

“ That’s right,” said Dan, “ holler. If the 
ship ain’t too far off they ’ll hear,” and he 
joined his voice to Paul’s. But no answering 
call came out of the fog. At length Dan said: 

“ Tide’s risin’, wind’s n’uthard, an’ our 
drift’s strong t’ th’ s’uthard. They ain’t 
hearin’. Get your rifle, an’ I finds cartridges. 
We ’ll be shootin’ signals.” 

The outfit hastily thrown in a heap was 
pulled over by Dan. Paul was too excited 
and nervous to remember in which of his two 
bags the ammunition was packed, and Dan 
could not find the cartridges for his own 
carbine. Finally, after unpacking both bags, 
Dan discovered not only Paul’s cartridges 
but his own, which Paul had inadvertently 
thrown in one of his bags the previous day. 

Paul’s rifle was quickly loaded, Dan fired, 
and they listened intently. No response came, 
and he fired again and again, until presently 
the welcome sound of a distant rifle shot came 
[83] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


faintly out of the fog. Their hopes rose, but 
the distant shots in response to their own grew 
fainter and fainter, and at length could no 
longer be heard. 

Dan finally laid down the rifle, with the 
remark: 

“ They ain’t no use shootin’ any more. Th’ 
wind’s cornin’ down from th’ ship, an’ if we 
can’t hear they, sure no one will be hearin’ 
us. Th’ skipper’s not knowin’ we been 
wrecked, an’ he ’ll not be sendin’ a boat. 
He ’ll be thinkin’ we ’ll pull for th’ ship with 
the shootin’ t’ guide us. ’T ain’t no use.” 

Paul’s hope of rescue, which had become 
a certainty when he heard the shots, now gave 
place to despair, and he threw himself upon 
the ice, moaning: 

“We’re lost! Oh, we’re lost! We’re lost!” 

“ Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan. “ They 
ain’t no knowin’ what ’ll happen. Dad tells 
un, 4 When you gets in a bad place, Dan, keep 
un nerve. More folks,’ says he, ‘ dies from 
losin’ they nerve than dies from most anything 
else. Whilst they’s life they’s a chanst,’ 
says he.” 


[84] 



“ Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan 





























































































































































































WRECKED 


Finally Dan’s philosophy quieted Paul to 
some extent. Black darkness settled upon the 
sea. The fog, if possible, grew denser. It 
obscured the stars — everything, even the 
lapping waves which were steadily but surely 
eating away the edges of the ice pan. 


[85] 


CHAPTER VI 

THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 


LAD to see you! Glad to see you! What 
luck? ” greeted Captain Bluntt as the 
boat with the returned caribou hunters pulled 
alongside the North Star, shortly after two 
o’clock. 

“Hello, Captain!” Remington and Ains¬ 
worth called out in unison. “ Got three,” 
said Remington in response to the Captain’s 
question. “ What do you think of those 
heads?” straightening up three pairs of 
antlers for inspection. 

“Fine! Fine! Where’d you get ’em? 
Have to go far? Get ’em far up country? ” 

“ No, tramped over a lot of country but 
never got a shot till this morning, half a 
mile in,” explained Remington, mounting the 
ladder to the deck. “ Came on a bunch of 
four just above here, and got three of them.” 

“ Good! Good! And you brought all the 
[ 86 ] 


THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 

meat! Great treat! Caribou meat’s fine 
venison.” 

“Yes, we had plenty of time to pack it 
down before the boat came. Where’s Paul? ” 

“ Ashore. Went ashore with Dan Rudd the 
day you leaves. Told ’em to be back at two 
o’clock today. Two o’clock. No later! The 
rascals! It’s two-thirty an’ a fog’s settlin’! 
The rascals! ” 

“ Why what can be keeping them? I hope 
they won’t get caught ashore in the fog.” 

“Went up the river. Must have camped 
along the river. Didn’t you see ’em? 
Could n’t have missed ’em if you came down 
the river.” 

“ We did n’t come down the river. We 
made a circuit and came down from the north. 
But that fog is settling fast! It looks bad!” 

“Looks bad! Looks bad!” agreed Cap¬ 
tain Bluntt. “Nasty weather ahead. Ice 
working up too. Lot of ice worked up from 
the north since you left. Want to get out of 
here. Told those rascals to be prompt. Never 
can depend on youngsters. Can’t depend 
on ’em.” 


[87] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


u They won’t miss the ship in the fog, will 
they, Captain?” 

“ No, no, they won’t miss us. Dan ’ll find 
us. Yes, Dan’ll find us. Shoot to signal us. 
Can’t miss us.” 

Before three o’clock the fog had settled into 
a heavy black pall, so intense that, standing 
at the companionway aft, Remington could 
scarcely make out the foremast. A strong 
breeze had also sprung up from the north, 
portending increased drift of ice southward. 

“ I wonder if Paul will ever learn to keep 
his appointments and be on time,” Remington 
remarked to Ainsworth. 

“ He seems to have no sense of responsi¬ 
bility,” said Ainsworth. 

“ I wish he were aboard. I’m worried at 
this delay. I hope nothing has happened to 
the boys.” 

“ Oh, I think there’s no cause to worry. 
Dan will take care that nothing goes wrong. 
Paul was n’t ready to return when he was 
told, and thought an hour or two would n’t 
matter. It’s characteristic of him. They ’ll 
be along pretty soon.” 

[ 88 ] 


THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 


Captain Bluntt was growing impatient and 
ill-humored. He had ordered steam up, and 
prepared for instant departure to the open 
sea the moment Paul and Dan came aboard. 
They were now an hour past due, an unheard- 
of delinquency on Dan’s part. 

“ By the imps of the sea! I ’ll wring those 
youngsters’ necks when I gets hold of ’em!” 
he exclaimed. “ By the imps of the sea I 
will! ” 

“ Could anyhing have happened to them? ” 
asked Remington anxiously. 

“ No, just taking their time. Just taking 
their time, th’ rascals! Dan Rudd can take 
care of himself. Take care of the other 
youngster too. Yes, yes, they’re all right. 
Dan Rudd ’ll see to that! ” 

Nevertheless Remington’s anxiety grew, 
and at the end of another half hour, when he 
approached Captain Bluntt again, he found 
the Captain’s face serious. 

“ Can’t fathom this! Can’t fathom it! ” the 
Captain exclaimed. “ Dan Rudd always 
sharp to the minute before! Never behind! 
Thought first the other youngster delayed 
[89] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


him. Could n’t delay him like this. Dan 
Rudd would n’t let him, with a fog settlin’, an’ 
a norther threatenin’. No, sir! No! Some¬ 
thin’ ’s wrong. Somethin’’s gone wrong.” 

“ Do you think-” 

“Listen! What’s that?” Captain Bluntt 
held up his hand. 

Faintly they heard a rifle shot in the fog, 
and in a moment another, fainter and hardly 
distinguishable. 

“Tom Hand! Jake Griggs! Here, you 
fellows! Man a boat! Be smart now!” 

With quick, gruff commands Captain 
Bluntt had a boat in the water, with four 
seamen at the oars and another at the tiller, 
as quickly as man could do it. 

“ Pull for your lives now! Pull for your 
lives! Save those lads! Pull, pull, you men! ” 

“Get your gun, sir! Get your gun, and 
shoot signals!” he commanded Remington, 
and in a moment Remington had his rifle on 
deck, shooting at regular intervals. 

Two or three shots were heard far away, 
and very faint, and then came silence. Rem¬ 
ington, Ainsworth and Captain Bluntt, in a 
[90] 



THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 


state of intense suspense, listened between the 
shots that Remington fired, and waited. 

An hour passed, and another hour before 
they heard the clank of oarlocks, and pres¬ 
ently the boat loomed up in the fog and 
gathering dusk. 

“ Did you find them? Did you find them, 
Tom Hand?” shouted Captain Bluntt. 

“ No, sir, they’s no findin’ un,” reported 
Tom. “ They’s lost, sir. We picks up an 
oar an’ a sleepin’ bag, but we’s not seem’ th’ 
boat, sir.” 

“Lost! Lost! ” exclaimed Remington in 
consternation. 

Captain Bluntt stood speechless and over¬ 
come. When Tom Hand reached deck, with 
the sleeping bag and oar, he examined the 
things critically, and asked: 

“ Where did you find these? Where’d you 
find ’em? ” 

“ Full two miles t’ th’ s’uthard, sir. We 
hears shots an’ pulls for un, and then th’ shots 
stop. We keep pullin’ t’ the’ s’uthard till we 
most loses th’ sound o’ your shootin’, an’ here 
we picks up th’ oar, an’ a bit farther th’ sleepin’ 
[91] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


bag. We hollers an’ hollers, but gets no 
answer, an’ we pulls around through th’ fog, 
but finds no more, an’ we comes back. ’T were 
growin’ dusk, sir, an’ no use lookin’ farther, 
sir.” 

“No, ’twere no use lookin’ further. No 
use.” Turning to Remington, “ They’s lost, 
sir. They’s lost,” and Captain Bluntt blew 
his nose on his handkerchief and gave an 
order to Tom Hand in as gruff a voice as he 
could assume, that he might hide his emotion. 

“ My God! Is it possible! ” said Reming¬ 
ton, quite stunned. 

“This is awful! Awful!” Ainsworth 
exclaimed. 

“ I can never go back home without Paul 
— never! Never! How could I face his 
father?” Remington half moaned. 

Ainsworth could offer no consolation. 
There was nothing to be done. No tragedy 
ever came more unexpectedly, and the young 
men were made sick with the realization of it. 

“ There’s nasty weather cornin’, an’ we ’ll 
move out into the open and lay to for th’ fog 
to clear,” explained Captain Bluntt a little 
[92] 


' THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 

later, to the two sportsmen whom he found 
sitting dejectedly in the cabin. “ Barometer 
falling. Blow cornin’. Hard blow cornin’, 
I fears. Cruise to th’ s’uthard when fog 
clears and look for wrecked boat. No use 
though. No use!” 

That night they drew out into deep water, 
and the next day lay to in the fog. Then the 
gradually rising wind increased in velocity, 
the fog was blown away, and a terrific north¬ 
east gale broke upon them. For two days 
and two nights it swept Hudson Bay with 
its fury, and when it ceased a jam of Arctic 
ice blocked the western coast of the bay, ren¬ 
dering any search for the wreckage of the 
boat quite useless. 

A conference was held, and upon Captain 
Bluntt’s advice Remington, against his de¬ 
sires, however, finally agreed to turn home¬ 
ward. 

The passage of Ungava Bay and Hudson 
Straits, now blocked with a shifting ice pack, 
was accomplished without accident, and once 
in the open Atlantic the North Star steamed 
for St. Johns, putting in at a Newfoundland 
[ 93 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

outport, en route, to permit Remington to 
cable Mr. Densmore in New York, to meet 
him at Sydney to receive bad news. This 
he did that the shock of Paul’s supposed death 
might not come to the parents too suddenly. 

The two young sportsmen proceeded at 
once by train from St. Johns to Port a Basque, 
and when their steamer from that place 
reached Sydney, they found Mr. Densmore 
awaiting their arrival at the dock. 

They boarded the train, and in a stateroom 
in the parlor car Remington gave the grief- 
stricken father a detailed account of what had 
occurred. 

“ It is a terrible blow to me, and his mother 
will be prostrated,” said Mr. Densmore. 
“ But, Remington,” placing his hand on the 
young man’s shoulder, “ rest assured I am sat¬ 
isfied everything possible was done to save my 
boy. You were guilty of no negligence, and 
I shall always have a kindly remembrance 
of the interest you took in Paul’s welfare.” 


[ 94 ] 


CHAPTER VII 

ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


A STEADY and gradually strengthening 

* breeze was blowing from the North. The 
boys, wet to the skin, huddled close together on 
the center of the drifting ice pan and in 
the lee of the boat. Presently Paul, less inured 
to cold and exposure than Dan, began to 
shiver, and Dan suggested: 

“ Get in your sleepin’ bag. ’T is rare cold, 
an’ you shakes like un had th’ ague.” 

“ No, I’d be afraid to lie down,” objected 
Paul, “ but maybe we could wrap a pair of 
the blankets around us. There are three pairs 
in my bag.” 

“ Now maybe we could be doin’ that,” said 
Dan. “ I’ll get un.” 

He felt in the dark among the things which 
had been piled together, and presently drew 
the inner pair of blankets from the bag. This 
they wrapped around their shoulders, draw- 
195 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


ing it close about them, with a camp bag for 
their seat and the boat at their back. 

“ Is there no help for us — no hope that 
the ship’s boat will pick us up in the morn¬ 
ing? ” asked Paul. 

“ I’m not sayin’ that,” comforted Dan. 
“ Th’ ship ’ll sure cruise t’ th’ s’uthard with 
daylight, an’ if th’ fog clears she ’ll be findin’ 
us, an’ th’ ice holds together.” 

“ Do you think the ice will hold together 
until morning? ” 

“ I’m hopin’ so. An’ with light I ’ll be 
tryin’ my hand at fixin’ th’ boat, an’ I’m 
thinkin’ we may fix un.” 

They were quiet for a long while, when 
Dan asked, softly: 

“ Sleepin’? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Cold?” 

“ Freezing.” 

“ Snuggle closter.” 

Paul drew very close to Dan, who drew 
the blanket tighter. 

“ Warmer?” 

“ Yes, that’s better.” 

[96] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


“ Ain’t so scairt? ” 

“ No — I do n’t know — I’m getting used 
to it, I guess.” 

“Yes, we’ll be gettin’ used to un before 
day, an’ then we ’ll be doin’ somethin’. Dad 
says always keep un nerve an’ be plucky, an’ 
th’ worst fixes can be got out of someway.” 

“ This is a pretty bad fix, though. Guess 
your dad was never in a fix like this.” 

“ Oh, yes, he were. Dad were on th’ old 
Narwhal when she were nipped, an’ twelve of 
her crew were lost. He were adrift on th’ ice 
for a week before he were picked up. An’ 
he’s been on four vessels as were wrecked. 
Dad’s been in some wonderful bad places, but 
he always gets out of un for he always keeps 
his nerve — an’ when they ain’t nothin’ he can 
do for hisself, he prays. Dad’s a wonderful 
religious man.” 

“ Can you pray? ” 

“Oh, yes; I been prayin’ quiet to myself, 
settin’ here. Can you?” 

“ I know the Lord’s Prayer. Mother taught 
me to say it when I was little.” 

“ Say un to yourself. ’T will do good.” 

[ 97 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Another long silence, and Dan asked: 

“ Been prayin’? ” 

“ It won’t do any good; I’m sure it won’t. 
I said it once but it do n’t seem to belong to 
this fix.” 

“ ’T will help us if we prays the best we 
can. Dad says: c Do everything you sets your 
hand to the best un knows how; if’t is workin’, 
work the best un can; if’t is prayin’, pray the 
best un can.’ ” 

“ Oh, Dan, if I’d only stopped fishing when 
you called me! If I’d only gone back to the 
ship then, we’d have been all right! Oh, 
why did n’t I go! Why did n’t I go! ” 

“ Maybe the Lord were plannin’ to have us 
go adrift, and He were keepin’ you fishin’. 
Dad says sometimes th’ Lord does such things 
to try folks out an’ see what they ’ll be doin’ 
for theirselves.” 

“ No, Dan, it was my fault. Oh, why 
did n’t I go when you called me! Now we ’ll 
both be drowned, and it’s all my fault.” 

“ Do n’t be feelin’ so bad about un, Paul,” 
Dan soothed. “While they’s life they’s a 
chanst. Dad’s always sayin’ that, an’ he says, 
[ 98 ] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


4 If you ever gets in a tight fix, lad, do all you 
can to get out of un, an’ when they ain’t nothin’ 
more you can do, an’ you ’re sartin’ they ain’t, 
then pray to th’ Lord, an’ leave un to He. 
But,’ says Dad, 1 do n’t waste no time prayin’ 
an’ askin’ th’ Lord’s help when they’s anythin’ 
you can do yourself. He won’t pull you out 
of no scrape when you ain’t doin’ th’ things 
He’s laid out for you to do first.’ ” 

“ But what can we do? ” 

“Nothin’ but pray now. We hollered an’ 
fired th’ guns. I been tryin’ to think of every¬ 
thin’, an’ they ain’t nothin’ else I can think of 
till ’t is light enough to see, an’ then maybe 
we’ll be findin’ a way to fix th’ boat; an’ 
maybe if we prays th’ Lord ’ll show us a 
way to do un.” 

The lads again lapsed into silence, to be 
broken finally by Paul. 

“Dan?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is n’t it most morning? ” 

“ ’T is a long while till mornin’ yet. I’m 
thinkin’ ’t is about two bells.” 

“ One o’clock? ” 


[ 99 ] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Yes. I ’ll strike a match, an’ you looks at 
your watch.” 

The flash of the match disclosed the hour 
as ten minutes past twelve. 

“ Time goes wonderful slow.” 

“ Yes. I thought it was almost morning.” 

“ Were you sleepin’? ” 

“ No.” 

Another silence, and Dan remarked: 

“ You got a wonderful lot o’ ca’tridges in 
your bag. What you bringin’ so many for? ” 

“ They ’re what Mr. Remington gave me.” 

“ Wonderful lot of un. More ’n you ’ll need 
in a year.” 

They settled down again, and when Dan 
looked up a faint light was showing through 
the fog blanket. He stirred and Paul awoke. 

“ We been sleepin’, Paul, an’ day ’ll soon be 
breakin’.” 

“Where are we?” asked Paul, rubbing 
his eyes. 

“ Cruisin’ to th’ s’uthard on a bit of ice 
in Hudson Bay,” answered Dan, adding 
facetiously: “We ain’t got no log, an’ I’ve 
lost th’ reckonin’.” 

[ioo] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


“Oh!” exclaimed Paul, sitting up and 
looking around him. “ I remember now! I 
was dreaming of home, and when I woke up I 
thought we were in camp. My, but I’m stiff 
and cold.” 

“ ’T is a kind of camp, but not a shore 
camp.” 

As daylight grew the outlook appeared 
more dismal than ever. The fog if possible 
was more dense than the evening before, and 
while the boys slept a corner of the pan had 
broken off. 

“ Do you think we can mend the boat? ” 
asked Paul. 

“ ’T is too dark yet,” answered Dan, “ but 
we ’ll be tryin’ soon as we can see.” 

“ I’m hungry. I have n’t eaten a thing 
since twelve o’clock yesterday.” 

“ So is I hungry, an’ we ’ll be eatin’ while 
we can’t do nothin’ else.” 

An investigation of the provision box dis¬ 
closed a can of corned beef, three cans of 
baked beans, a small piece of bacon, a dozen 
ship’s biscuits, a few pounds of flour and some 
tea, left over from their fishing trip. 

[ioi] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ We ’ll open one of the cans of beans, and 
each have a biscuit,” suggested Dan, “ but 
they ain’t nothin’ to drink.” 

“That’s so; we can’t make tea without a 
fire.” 

“No, an’ the water’s salt.” 

“ We ’re up against it good and hard. Now 
you speak of water, I’m famishing for a 
drink,” said Paul as he ate. 

“ Th’ ice is sweet, an’ after you eats I ’ll 
chip a cupful of un, an’ if you holds un under 
your jacket she ’ll melt.” 

“ I never would have thought of that. These 
beans are mighty good. Let’s have another 
can. I’m not half satisfied.” 

“ No, we got to be careful of un. They’s 
no tellin’ how long’t will be before we gets 
picked up, an’ we got to be careful of the 
grub.” 

“ I’m fearfully hungry, but I guess you ’re 
right.” 

“Yes, I knows I is. Dad’s often sayin’ to 
me, 1 Dan, if you ever gets in a tight place, 
an’ not much grub in sight, be wonderful 
careful of what you has, and make un last.’ ” 
[102] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


It was full light now. Dan chipped some 
ice with the axe, filled a cup, and Paul held 
it carefully beneath his jacket. 

An examination of the boat was not reassur¬ 
ing. The forward planks on the port side 
were stove far in, and an attempt to repair 
the damage, even temporarily, appeared at 
first a hopeless task. 

“ I’m not seem’ just how to mend un,” 
remarked Dan, contemplating the damaged 
planks, “ but Dad, he says to me, 4 Always 
try. Do un best. What looks like a hard 
job is very like to be an easy one in the end.’ 
He says to me, ‘ Do all un can, anyhow, how¬ 
soever hard the job looks. The Lord may 
have you marked up to live to sixty or seventy 
year,’ says he, ‘ and to die in bed, but if you 
gets in a tight place, and they’s somethin’ you 
might be doin’ to get out of un if you tries, 
and you lets un go without tryin’ because 
you ’re not seein’ how to do un at first, the 
Lord ’ll be sayin’ to the recordin’ angel, 
just change that feller’s markin’, and put he 
down to die now, and make un drownin’. Dad 
says the Lord ’ll just be thinkin’ ’t ain’t no use 
[103] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

keepin’ a feller around the world what do n’t 
care enough about livin’ to do what he can 
to save hisself, but leaves it all to the Lord 
to do.’ ” 

Encouraged by this philosophy of his 
father’s, Dan worked with a will, and at the 
end of an hour succeeded in forcing the 
stove-in planking back into place. 

In the meantime Paul’s ice had melted, and, 
refreshed by a half cup of slightly brackish 
water, he turned his attention to Dan’s success 
with the boat. 

“ Won’t that go all right without leaking 
much?” he asked. 

“No, ’twill leak like a sieve,” answered 
Dan, surveying the boat. “ I were seein’ that 
much to do from the first, but I were n’t seein’ 
how to make the planks hold where I put 
un, or how to make un tight, and I’m not 
seein’ ’t yet. Now if we had some bits of 
board and some nails, I’m thinkin’ we might 
make un tight.” 

“ There’s the grub box. Could n’t we 
knock that to pieces, and use the boards and 
nails in it?” * 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 

“ The grub box! Well there! And I never 
were thinkin’ of un! ” 

Dan soon had the box in pieces and the 
nails removed. 

“ I’m wonderful slow to think of things 
sometimes,” remarked he as he worked. 
“Now why weren’t I thinkin’ of this box 
first off? ” 

Cleats were fashioned by Dan from the 
pieces of box, with the axe as his one working 
tool, and he was finally ready to nail them 
in position, where they would hold the broken 
planks in place. Nails were few, and it was 
necessary that great economy be practiced in 
their use and that each be driven where it 
would do the most good. 

The swell was increasing, the north wind 
was rising, and with every hour the position 
of the boys was becoming more dangerous. 
The first cleat had scarcely been nailed down 
when a wave broke over the pan, washing its 
whole surface, not deep enough to carry the 
things away, but suggesting the possibility 
that another one might presently do so. Dan 
had fortunately put his cleats in the boat as 
[105] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


he made them, or the wave would certainly 
have carried off the light pieces of wood. 

“ Paul, you be loadin’ the things in the 
boat,” said Dan, “ while I does th’ mendin’. 
Th’ next swell breakin’ over th’ pan may 
carry th’ bags overboard. Load th’ light bags 
first.” 

Paul obeyed, and when the next wave, a 
little heavier than the first, broke over the 
pan the outfit was out of its reach. 

It was well past noon when the last cleat 
was placed, and Dan began to caulk with strips 
torn from a shirt, using as his tool a wedge 
made from a piece of the box. 

The caulking was not yet half done when 
the boys were startled by a loud report, like 
that of a gun. 

“There she goes!” exclaimed Dan. “I 
were lookin’ for un! Th’ pan’s busted! ” 

And sure enough, fully a third of their pan 
had broken loose from the main body of ice 
which held them. 

Heavier swells, now and again moving the 
boat slightly, swept the pan. Dan worked 
desperately at his caulking; Paul, sitting in 
[!06] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 

the boat clinging to his seat, was expecting 
every moment to be washed from the ice. As 
he looked out into the fog and beheld the 
growing anger of the sea his apprehension 
grew. He realized fully their imminent peril, 
and he began to doubt the ability of the frail 
boat, even had it been free from damage, 
to weather the high piling waves. 

All at once he thought he saw something 
in the distance, a faint splotch in the fog, and 
he called out: 

“ Dan! Dan! See there! What is that? ” 

Dan raised his eyes from his work and 
looked. 

“Land! ’T is th’ land!” he exclaimed. 
“ ’T is th’ land and we ’ll soon be ashore.” 

The tide was carrying them in, and more 
and more distinct a rocky outline of coast 
loomed up. Dan did not stop his repairs, 
however, and presently the task of caulking 
was finished. 

“ There,” said he, “ she’s caulked, an’ 
she ’ll do to take us ashore.” 

“ Can’t we float her now and land? ” asked 
Paul, in feverish excitement. 

[107] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“That’s a p’int of land,” said Dan. 
“ We ’re driftin’ in around un, and I’m 
thinkin’ th’ tide ’ll carry us to the lee, an’ 
we ’ll have less sea to launch in, if we waits 
a bit.” 

“ Oh, but I want to get ashore! ” exclaimed 
Paul. “ Could n’t we launch off here? ” 

“ We might and we might n’t,” answered 
Dan cautiously. “ We can’t move th’ boat 
without unloadin’ she. If we launches on the 
lee, th’ ice ’ll be likely to ram in, an’ smash un 
ag’in, before we gets free, an’ if we tries to 
launch on ary other side th’ waves ’ll be 
smashin’ un ag’in’ th’ ice before we gets th’ 
outfit aboard. And anyway, if we unloads th’ 
outfit on th’ ice th’ sea’s like to work un over¬ 
board before we gets th’ boat launched. I’m 
thinkin’ we’d better tarry a bit.” 

Dan’s surmise proved correct. The ice 
slowly swept past the point, and, carried upon 
the bosom of a rising tide, they gradually 
passed into a bay, and calmer water. 

“ Now,” announced Dan, who had been 
watching his opportunity, “ we ’ll try un.” 

The things were taken out of the boat, the 
[108] 


ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 


boat pushed off and alongside the pan and 
easily reloaded in the now gentle swell, and 
the boys with their outfit aboard shoved out 
into the bay. 

The one remaining oar Dan took astern, 
dropped it between two pegs placed there for 
the purpose, and working the oar adeptly back 
and forth both propelled and steered the boat 
shoreward. The damaged bow was found to 
be so well repaired that it leaked very little, 
and in a few minutes a safe landing was made 
upon a sloping, gravelly bit of beach. 

For several minutes the boys stood silent, 
looking toward the fog-enshrouded sea from 
which they had just been delivered. Dan at 
length broke silence: 

“ Thank the Lord, we ’re safe ashore,” said 
he reverently. 

“Yes, it’s almost too good to believe.” 
Tears of joy stood in Paul’s eyes as he spoke. 
“ When the ship finds us and picks us up, Dan, 
I’m going to tell Captain Bluntt that it was 
all my fault we did n’t go aboard when he told 
us to, and I’m going to tell everybody how 
you saved our lives by mending the boat. We 
[109] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


never could have got off the ice if you had n’t 
mended the boat.” 

“ ’T were nothin’ to mend th’ boat,” depre¬ 
cated Dan. 

“ Oh, yes, it was,” insisted Paul. “ There 
are n’t many could have done it, and when the 
ship picks us up I ’ll tell them all about it.” 

But they were not to see the North Star 
again, and they were not to be picked up. 
They were destined to face the rigors of a sub- 
Arctic winter in the unknown wilderness upon 
whose shores they had drifted. 


[no] 


CHAPTER VIII 

FACING STARVATION 


JDAUL and Dan surveyed their surround¬ 
ings. So far as they could discover, in the 
dense fog, which enshrouded land as well as 
sea, they were stranded upon a desolate, ver¬ 
dureless coast. Behind them rose a ledge of 
storm-scoured rocks which reached out into 
the sea in a rugged cliff to the eastward, and 
formed the point they had rounded to enter 
the bight. And out on the rocky point they 
could hear the breakers in dismal, rhythmic 
succession, pounding upon the rocks. 

The sounding breakers made Paul shudder 
as he realized how narrowly he and Dan had 
escaped a fate of which he scarcely dared 
think. He was profoundly thankful for their 
deliverance, and rugged as their coast was he 
had no thought of complaint against the fate 
that had placed him upon it. 

Nowhere was there a tree or even a bush to 
[in] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


be seen. Even the moss that here and there 
found lodgment in crevasses of the rocks 
seemed to struggle for an uncertain existence. 
Some driftwood, however, strewn along the 
beach, offered fuel for their tent stove. 

“ ’T is a wonderful bleak place,” said Dan, 
“ but I’m thinkin’ ’t is better inside, with 
timber growin’ an’ maybe a river cornin’ in, 
t’ bring this drift down.” 

“ But it’s too late to go up there tonight,” 
protested Paul, dreading to venture upon the 
fog-covered water again, even in the boat. 

“ Aye, ’t is too late to go t ’night. ’T is 
already growin’ dusk, an’ I’m not thinkin’ t’ 
cruise around in th’ fog, on land or on water. 
’T would be temptin’ th’ Lord t’ send us adrift 
ag’in, after settin’ us safe ashore.” 

“ We ’re both wet to the skin, and I’m 
freezing. Can’t we make a fire?” suggested 
Paul, his teeth chattering. 

“ We ’ll be settin’ up th’ tent in th’ lee o’ this 
rock. ’T is lucky we has th’ jointed tent poles, 
with nary a tree about.” 

“ Can’t I help? ” asked Paul, as Dan jointed 
the poles and unrolled the tent. 

[112] 


FACING STARVATION 


“ You might be carryin’ up th’ outfit, an’ we 
gets th’ tent up, we ’ll put un inside. ’T will 
warm you up t’ be carryin’ un.” 

In fifteen minutes the tent was up, the tent 
stove in place, and Dan was cutting driftwood 
for a fire while Paul stowed away their 
belongings, and in another fifteen minutes a 
fire was roaring in the stove. 

“ Oh, but this is cozy,” exclaimed Paul, 
reclining close to the stove, “ and now I’m 
ravenously hungry again.” 

“ ’T is wonderful cozy in th’ tent,” agreed 
Dan. “ I ’ll take th’ kettle an’ look for water, 
an’ when I comes back we ’ll boil th’ kettle an’ 
have a snack.” 

Almost immediately Dan was back with his 
kettle of water. 

“ They’s a spring just up here, an’ we ’re 
lucky t’ have un so dost,” he remarked, setting 
the kettle on the stove. “ I’m thinkin’ we ’re 
in for a blow, an’ we ’ll not be gettin’ away 
from here till she’s over.” 

“ Don’t you think the ship will come tomor¬ 
row if the fog clears? ” asked Paul anxiously. 

“ No,” replied Dan discouragingly, search¬ 
es] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


ing for the bacon. “Let’s put on a light; 
they’s some candles left.” He found the 
candles, lighted one, and discovered the bacon. 
“ I’m not expectin’ th’ ship in th’ blow that’s 
cornin’. ’T is a dangerous coast,” he con¬ 
tinued, as he sliced the bacon, “ an’ th’ skip¬ 
per ’ll be takin’ no chances cruisin’ inshore in 
a gale.” 

“ Well, we ’re safe enough, and the tent is as 
cozy a place as I ever struck,” said Paul, now 
thoroughly warm, and basking in the stove’s 
genial heat, his wet clothes sending forth a 
cloud of steam. 

“ ’T will be fine so long as th’ grub lasts. 
But they’s no tellin’ how long we ’ll be held 
up, an’ they ain’t much grub. But maybe we 
can kill somethin.’ I ’ll take a look at th’ 
country, an’ th’ fog clears tomorrow.” 

“ I should think we’d find plenty of game. 
We’ve seen ducks and ptarmigans everywhere 
we’ve been. Oh,” sniffing, “ but that bacon 
smells dandy.” 

“Yes, I’m thinkin’ we’ll find ducks an’ 
pa’tridges, but they’s no knowin’, an’ we ’ll be 
wonderful careful o’ th’ grub we’s got till we 
[114] 


FACING STARVATION 


finds out. Dad says always be careful of what 
you has till you sees more cornin’.” 

The kettle had boiled and Dan threw some 
tea into it and set it on the ground close to the 
stove, then he put half of the bacon he had 
fried on Paul’s aluminum plate, the other half 
on his own plate, carefully dividing the bacon 
grease between them, gave Paul two ship’s 
biscuits, took two for himself, and filled their 
aluminum cups with tea. 

“Now we can fall to,” he said. “ They’s 
plenty o’ tea, but we can’t be eatin’ more ’n this 
much grub to onct, an’ we ’ll not be havin’ 
mor ’n one biscuit apiece at a meal after this. 
I’m givin’ us two now for we been a rare long 
time without eatin’.” 

“ It looks like a mighty little, with my 
appetite, but I guess you ’re right about it,” 
admitted Paul. 

“ Hear that!” 

“ What? ” 

“ Th’ wind. I knew she’d be cornin’ up. 
Th’ fog ’ll be blowin’ away by midnight.” 

“ That ’ll be good.” 

“ If she don’t blow too strong an’ too long.” 
[1153 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ But this bacon grease is great! ” exclaimed 
Paul, taking a spoonful of the warm grease. 
“ Funny I like it, though. When I’m home I 
can’t bear to eat fat.” 

“ Grease is fine grub for cruisin’, an’ when 
th’ weather’s cold. When Dad an’ me goes 
trappin’ winters we just takes fat pork an’ flour 
an’ tea an’ molasses.” 

“ It does make a difference, I guess. I was 
just thinking that I’d never in my life eaten 
anything so good as this bacon and hardtack. 
If I was home I would n’t look at them. I ’ll 
never find fault again if my meat’s a little too 
rare or too done, or not just what I happen 
to like best.” 

“ Dad says anythin’ s good when a feller’s 
hungry.” 

It was a meager supper, indeed. A bit of 
bacon, two ship’s biscuits and tea could hardly 
satisfy the appetite of a boy who had eaten but 
once in thirty hours, and then but lightly. 

“ I’m hungrier than ever! ” declared Paul, 
when he had eaten the last morsel of his 
portion. 

“ So am I. ’T were n’t much,” admitted 
[n6] 



Dan struck up a tune 



























































































































:*• 





























































»' 


























. 



















































































































FACING STARVATION 


Dan, as he drew his harmonica from his 
pocket, wiped it on his coat sleeve, and struck 
up a tune. 

But with relaxation from the long hours of 
anxiety and exposure which had preceded Dan 
soon found himself too drowsy to play. Paul 
was nodding in a brave attempt to keep awake. 
Dan put the harmonica aside, they made their 
bed and were soon in heavy slumber, not to 
awaken until broad daylight. 

The wind had risen to almost the force of a 
hurricane, and upon looking out of the tent 
they beheld the waters of Hudson Bay beaten 
into a wild fury. Mighty foam-crested waves 
were rolling in upon the rocky point below, 
breaking with a continuous thunderous roar. 
The fog had passed, and black, broken clouds 
scudded the sky. 

“ She’s wonderful mad because she did n’t 
get us,” remarked Dan. 

“My! But weren’t we lucky to drift in 
last night!” said Paul, shuddering at the 
scene. 

“’T were n’t luck,” corrected Dan. “ Th’ 
Lord were sendin’ us in ahead o’ th’ blow. 
[117] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Dad says’t ain’t luck, but th’ Lord, as helps 
folks out o’ bad places.” 

After an unsatisfactory breakfast of beans, 
Dan shouldered his rifle, cautioned Paul not 
to go out of sight of the tent, and started out 
to explore and hunt. Late in the afternoon he 
returned with a big gray goose and a rabbit. 
Paul, who was in the tent, sprang up when 
Dan pulled back the flap and looked in. 

“ Oh, but I’m glad to see you, Dan! ” he 
exclaimed. “ I never was so dead lonesome in 
my life! ” 

“ ’T is a bit lonesome bidin’ alone in camp,” 
admitted Dan, “ but see now what I’m 
gettin’,” and he dropped his game at Paul’s 
feet. 

“A goose and a rabbit! Oh, Dan, what 
luck! Now we can have a feast, and I’m so 
hungry I can hardly move.” 

“ An’ I’m wonderful hungry, too, with th’ 
long tramp. Now I ’ll be dressin’ th’ goose, 
an’ you puts a kettle o’ water on an’ cuts some 
wood.” 

Paul went at his task with a vim. He 
wielded the light camp axe very clumsily, for 
InB] 


FACING STARVATION 


he had never used an axe before; it was, in 
fact, his first attempt at manual labor. He 
had, however, a good supply of wood piled 
up by the time the goose was dressed and in 
the kettle, and he and Dan sat down to enjoy 
the appetizing odor of cooking fowl while 
they chatted. 

“ Do you know, Dan, we ’re having such a 
dandy time here, I ’ll feel almost sorry when 
the ship comes. This tent is so cozy,” he 
declared. 

“ ’T is cozy an’ fine, but I’m thinkin’ we ’ll 
be wantin’ t’ see th’ ship bad enough before 
we sees her.” 

“ But she ’ll be along tomorrow, won’t 
she?” 

“ No, nor th’ next day neither. I were 
lookin’ t’ th n’uthard from th’ rise back here, 
an’ I sees a wonderful drift o’ ice workin’ up, 
an’ if th’ blow holds tomorrow, as’t is sure to 
hold, there ’ll be a pack o’ ice up from th’ 
n’uthard that the ship ’ll never be gettin’ 
through.” 

“What! You don’t mean the ship won’t 
come at all? ” 

[119] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ I’m not savin’ that for sure, but it’s how 
’t is lookin’ t’ me now.” 

“Oh, but Dan, that can’t be! What will 
we do if we ’re not picked up? ” 

“ I’ve been thinkin’ un over, an’ figurin’ un 
out. Tom were sayin’ they’s tradin posts t’ 
th’ s’uthard, an’ I been figurin’ we ’ll have t’ 
make for un. We ’ll have t’ hunt for our grub, 
but onct we gets t’ th’ posts we ’ll be safe.” 

“ Do you really think we ’ll have to do that, 
and stay here all winter? It would just kill 
my mother, for she won’t know where I am.” 

“ I’m just sayin’ what’s like t’ happen, but 
’t ain’t no way sure. A bit inside I finds a 
river runnin’ in th’ head o’ this bight, an’ 
plenty o’ timber. ’T were near th’ river I kills 
th’ goose. ’T ain’t such a wonderful bad 
country.” 

This was a possibility that had not occurred 
to Paul. He had harbored no doubt that the 
North Star would presently cruise southward 
along the coast, pick them up, and he would 
go home in comfort. The bare possibility that 
they might not be rescued was a shock. All 
pleasures, all comforts, all hardships and 
[120] 


FACING STARVATION 


privations are measured by contrast. The tent 
had seemed very cozy, for unconsciously Paul 
had compared its warmth and security with 
the hardships he had experienced on the ice 
pan. Now the possibility that he might have 
to spend the winter in a tent in this northern 
wilderness led him to compare such a condi¬ 
tion with the luxurious comforts of his home 
in New York, and the comparison made him 
shrink from the hardships that he instinctively 
attached to tent life in winter in a sub-Arctic 
wilderness. With the comparison, also, came 
an overwhelming desire to see his father and 
mother again. 

“ Dan, it would kill me to have to spend the 
winter here. Oh, that would be awful.” 

“ Not so bad if we finds grub. Th’ grub’s 
what’s troublin’ me. An’ we ’ll be needin’ 
more clothes when th’ cold weather comes. 
But we ’ll not let un worry us till we has to. 
Dad says it never does no good t’ worry, for 
worryin’ do n’t help things, an’ it puts a feller 
in a fix so he ain’t much good t’ help hisself.” 

“ But I can’t help worrying.” 

“ Maybe they ain’t nothin’ t’ worry about. 

[I2l] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Dad says most all th’ things folks worries 
about is things they’s afeared will happen, but 
never does happen. Let’s ferget t’ worry now, 
an’ get at that goose. She must be done, an’ 
I’m wonderful hungry.” 

The present rose paramount. The boiling 
goose was done, and soon drove from their 
minds all thought of the future. The water in 
which it was boiled, well seasoned with salt, 
made excellent broth, and with no bread or 
vegetable — for Dan would not draw upon the 
few biscuits remaining — the two boys, with 
ravenous and long unsatisfied appetites, ate 
the whole bird for their dinner. 

Full stomachs put them in a pleasanter 
frame of mind, the tent again assumed a cozy 
atmosphere, and Paul declared he was having 
the “ bulliest time ” of his life. 

During the two days and nights that fol¬ 
lowed there was no abatement in the wind. 
Dan spent the daylight hours hunting, while 
Paul remained in the vicinity of camp, making 
frequent tours to the summit of the rocky hill 
behind the tent, where he had a wide view of 
Hudson Bay. With sinking heart he looked 
~ [122] 


FACING STARVATION 


out of the tent one morning to find the bight 
jammed with ice, and upon climbing the hill 
as usual beheld a solid mass of ice reaching 
westward from the shore as far as he could see. 

At length the wind somewhat diminished in 
force, though it was not until the fourth morn¬ 
ing after their arrival that they arose to find 
the sun shining brilliantly from a clear sky, 
and dead calm prevailing. Several inches of 
snow had fallen during the night and the air 
was sharp with frost. Their world seemed 
cold and cheerless indeed. 

Dan’s hunting expeditions had resulted in 
nothing, after the first day. Once he had 
started a flock of ptarmigans, but in windy 
weather ptarmigans are very wild, and this 
flock flew so far that he was unable to discover 
them again after they had alighted. 

This failure to secure game had forced them 
to cut down their daily ration to a point that 
left their appetites far from satisfied. Even 
then they were alarmed to find that, practic¬ 
ing the utmost economy, but one day’s scant 
provisions remained, when at length the 
weather cleared. 

[123] 


CHAPTER IX 

THE WATERS CLEAR 


T3AUL went to the spring for water, while 
Dan kindled the fire. Paul was learning 
now to do his share of the camp work. He 
had become fairly adept in the use of the axe, 
and to pass the hours while Dan was absent on 
hunting expeditions, he had collected sufficient 
wood to last them for several days, and had 
cut the greater part of it into proper lengths 
for the stove. 

When he returned with the kettle of water 
and placed it on the stove to heat for tea, 
he sat down in silent dejection. Starvation 
seemed very near. He was always hungry 
now — ravenously, fearfully hungry — and he 
could see no relief. Both he and Dan were 
visibly thinner than when they left the ship, 
and Paul was worried beyond expression. 

Dan, squatting before the stove, his knees 
drawn up to his chin and his arms locked 
[124] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 

around them, gazing intently at nothing, ap¬ 
peared not to notice Paul as he entered. He 
was evidently in deep thought, and Paul 
watched him anxiously, for he had learned 
that when Dan assumed this position he was 
making plans for the future. 

Paul had grown to place great confidence 
in Dan and his plans. In fact he had come 
to look upon Dan as quite a wonderful person 
as well as true friend. 

Never once had Dan admitted that he was 
greatly worried at the turn things had taken. 
On the contrary, while he had owned that 
their position was serious, he had always ended 
by assuring Paul that there was some way to 
overcome any difficulty which they might 
meet, and that they could find a way to do it, 
no matter how obscure the way might appear, 
if they but applied themselves earnestly to 
the task of searching it out. 

Presently the kettle boiled, and as Dan 
arose to make the tea he remarked: 

“ They’s no knowin’ how fur ’t is t’ th’ near¬ 
est post, an’ I’m not knowin’ yet what’s best 
t’ do. Th’ river’s too big t’ ford, an’ if we 
[125] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


goes afoot we ’ll have t’ raft un, for with ice in 
th’ bight we can’t launch th’ boat. 

“ If we walks we can’t pack th’ tent or much 
of th’ outfit, you never done no packin’, an’ 
I’d have t’ carry most of what we’d be takin’. 
If’t were far, with other rivers we’d be like 
t’ meet an’ have t’ raft, th’ cold weather’d be 
on before we’d be gettin’ anywheres, an’ with 
no tent the things I’d carry would n’t be 
enough t’ do both of us. 

a Th’ wind’s veered clean around from th’ 
nor’east t’ th’ s’uthard, an’ I’m thinkin’ 
she ’ll veer t’ th’ west’ard in a day or so, an’ 
if she freshens up from th’ west’ard she ’ll 
clear th’ ice out. Then we could be usin’ th’ 
boat, an’ cruise t’ th’ s’uthard till we finds th’ 
post or th’ ship picks us up. ’T is too early 
for winter t’ be settin’ in t’ stay, an’ we ’ll sure 
be findin’ ducks along th’ coast.” 

“ But we have n’t anything to eat. We ’ll 
starve before that time.” 

“ I’m wonderful troubled about un,” ad¬ 
mitted Dan. “They’s no danger of th’ tent 
blowin’ away, an’, with th’ ice on th’ coast, no 
chanst of th’ ship cornin’, so I’m thinkin’ ’t is 
[126] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 


best for us both t’ go huntin’. They ain’t no 
use you stayin’ in camp. I ’ll be showin’ you 
how to make rabbit snares while I hunts. 
With a bit of snow on th’ ground, an’ no wind, 
they’s more chanst of findin’ game.” 

This was very agreeable to Paul. It would 
take him from the monotonous, lonely hours 
in camp, and he was eager to get away — to 
do something. 

Their last half can of beans was divided 
between them for breakfast, and this disposed 
of, they prepared for a day’s hunt. 

“ Better take your shotgun instead of your 
rifle,” suggested Dan. “ I ’ll be takin’ my 
rifle, but ’t is easier t’ get birds on th’ wing 
with a shotgun. I been missin’ un most every 
day with th’ rifle.” 

“ You were n’t afraid to ask me for the shot¬ 
gun, were you, Dan? ” 

“She’s so pretty I weren’t knowin’ as 
you’d like t’ lend un, an’ I takes my rifle 
hopin’ t’ get a long shot at a goose, or maybe 
a bear or deer. Do n’t forget th’ shells for 
un.” 

“ Why, Dan, you could have had the shot- 
[127] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


gun. Just take any of my things when you 
need them.” 

Dan carried the axe as well as his rifle, and 
set a good pace up the shore of the bight. 
Presently turning around a bluff they saw the 
forest reaching down to the ice-choked bight. 

“ ’T is there th’ river comes in,” remarked 
Dan. 

“ Do n’t walk so fast, Dan. I’m most 
winded.” 

“ I were n’t walkin’ fast,” said Dan, slack¬ 
ening his pace, “ but you ain’t been walkin’ 
none lately, an’ ’t is a bit hard until you gets 
used t’ un.” 

Presently they reached the spruce forest and 
the river, and a little way up the timbered 
valley through which the river flowed found 
rabbit tracks in every direction in the light 
snow. 

“ They’s plenty of un here,” remarked Dan. 
“ Now here’s a run — that’s a trail they takes 
reg’lar back and forth. We ’ll be settin’ a 
snare in un.” 

Dan cut a spruce sapling and laid it across, 
and supported a foot above, the run by brush 
[128] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 


growth on either side, first trimming the 
branches off the side of the sapling placed 
downward, that they might not obstruct the 
run. He then placed an upright stick on 
either side of the run and about five inches 
from it, leaving an opening about ten inches 
wide between the sticks, with the run passing 
through the center. Then he blocked the 
space along the sapling on each side of this 
opening with brush, remarking: 

“ That’s t’ keep th’ rabbits from leavin’ th’ 
run.” 

He now produced a hank of heavy, smooth 
twine, cut off a piece and on one end of it made 
a slip-noose that would work easily. The 
other end he tied securely to the sapling di¬ 
rectly over the run, first spreading the noose 
wide, until the bottom swung about three 
inches from the ground, the sides touched the 
upright sticks on either side, and the top hung 
just below the sapling. Small twigs, so placed 
as not to obstruct the opening in the noose, 
were stuck in the ground at the bottom and on 
the sides to keep it in position. 

“ ’T is poor string for snarin’,” he said, con- 
[129] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

templating his work, “ but’t is all I has, an’ 
’twill have to do Wire’s better’n string. 
Rabbits eats string off if’t ain’t set just right 
t’ choke ’em so’s they can’t.” 

“ Will that catch rabbits?” Paul asked 
incredulously. 

“ Yes, that ’ll catch un. You see, they comes 
along th’ run, an’ when they tries t’ jump 
through th’ noose she just slips up around their 
necks and chokes un. Now you can be settin’ 
snares, an’ I looks for pa’tridges.” 

“ Where ’ll I set ’em? Anywhere around? ” 

“ Anywheres you finds runs. Work up 
through th’ timber an’ do n’t lose sight o’ th’ 
river. Mark th’ places where you sets un by 
blazin’ a tree dost by un, like this,” and as 
high as he could conveniently reach with the 
axe, Dan chipped a piece of bark as big as his 
hand from either side of a tree, where the 
white bared wood could be readily seen by 
one following up or down the river. 

“ I ’ll take th’ shotgun an’ leave my rifle 
with you. ’T will be easier t’ get pa’tridges 
with th’ shotgun, an’ I sees any.” 

“Will you come back here for me?” 

[130] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 

“ Yes, I ’ll be lookin’ you up,” and Dan 
strode away. 

Setting snares was a novel occupation for 
Paul, and he found the work intensely inter¬ 
esting. Upon every new run that he discov¬ 
ered he duplicated as exactly and as carefully 
as possible the snare that Dan had set, and then 
blazed a tree to mark its position. 

He was thinking now constantly of good 
things to eat, and feasts that he would have 
when he reached home. This kept his mind 
occupied with pleasant thoughts while his 
hands were at work. 

Several hours had passed, several snares had 
been set, and he was still busily engaged when 
Dan, right at his elbow, said: 

“ Feelin’ hungry? ” 

“ Oh! ” and Paul jumped. “ Dan, I did n’t 
see you. You frightened me.” 

Dan laughed. 

“ See what I’m gettin’,” and he held up 
seven fat ptarmigans. 

“Oh, Dan, but that’s fine!” exclaimed 
Paul, handling the birds caressingly. 

“ Let’s put on a fire an’ have a snack,” said 
[131] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Dan. “ Seems like I can’t walk no farther 
till I eats.” 

Dan collected some small dry twigs and a 
handful of the dry moss which in northern 
forests collects beneath the limbs of spruce 
trees. With his foot he scraped the snow from 
a small area, baring the ground. In the center 
of this he placed the moss, arranged the sticks 
about it with much care, struck a match to the 
moss, and in an incredibly short time had a 
cheery fire blazing. 

“ Break some boughs for a seat, Paul, while 
I plucks th’ pa’tridges,” he suggested. 

Two of the birds were quickly plucked and 
drawn, Dan placing the entrails carefully 
aside on clean snow. Then he cut two dead 
sticks a couple of feet in length, sharpened 
them at each end, impaled a ptarmigan on 
each, and stuck the other sharpened end of 
the sticks in the ground in such position that 
the birds were near enough to the fire to broil 
without burning. 

“ ’T is wonderful extravagant for each of us 
t’ be eatin’ a whole pa’tridge,” said he, as he 
sat down upon the seat of boughs Paul had 


THE WATERS CLEAR 


provided, “ but we ain’t been eatin’ much 
lately, an’ I finds myself gettin’ weak, an’ I’m 
thinkin’ we ’ll be hungry yet after we eats 
un, for one pa’tridge with nothin’ t’ go with 
un ain’t much.” 

“ I feel as though I could eat both of them 
myself. I wonder if I ’ll ever get enough to 
eat again,” said Paul. “ I’ve been planning 
the things I’m going to eat when I get home.” 

While Dan turned the birds now and again 
they planned feasts and talked of good things 
they had eaten and longed to eat again, until 
Dan finally announced: 

“ Well, they’s done.” 

“ It was just enough to make me hungrier,” 
declared Paul when the last morsel had been 
eaten, even to the tender bones, and thoroughly 
enjoyed, though they had no salt for seasoning. 

Dan reached over for the entrails, wound 
one upon the end of each stick, and, handing 
Paul one of the sticks, began to broil his own 
over the coals. 

“ What you going to do with them? ” asked 
Paul. 

“ Eat ’em,” announced Dan. “ You remem- 
[133] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


ber th’ way th’ huskies done? I’m thinkin’ if 
they’s good for huskies they’s good for us.” 

“ I do n’t know,” said Paul, hesitating. 
Then like one plunging into a cold bath he 
followed Dan’s example, remarking, as 
he watched the swelling, sputtering things: 
“ It’s funny the way people change. When 
I saw the Eskimos eat them I thought it was 
a terrible thing to do, but it does n’t seem so 
bad now.” 

“ Dad says folks can eat most anything if 
they’s hungry enough.” 

“ I guess he’s right.” 

“ They ’re not so bad,” said Dan, tasting an 
end of his. 

“ They ’re really pretty good,” asserted 
Paul, gingerly taking a mouthful. 

“ I was thinkin’ we better not waste un. 
We ’ll have t’ save th’ little grub we has in th’ 
tent for a time when we ’ll need un more, an’ 
be livin’ now on what we kills.” 

It was a day of good fortune. On their 
return to camp they made a wide detour, ex¬ 
ploring a section that Dan had not yet visited, 
and suddenly, while skirting a marsh in the 
[134] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 

center of which was a pond, Dan grabbed Paul 
by the arm. 

“ Geese! ” he exclaimed. 

The pond was discovered to be a widening 
of a brook, flowing to the southward to join 
their river. 

“ Now we ’ll crawl up along th’ willow 
brush, an’ do n’t be shootin’ till I says to,” 
directed Dan. “ When I says ‘ shoot,’ take th’ 
nighest one with one barrel an’ th’ next nighest 
with t’ other barrel, an’ be steady, fer’t means 
grub. I ’ll give ’em bullets with th’ rifle.” 

Cautiously and silently they crawled foot by 
foot along the lee of the willow bushes that 
lined the brook. Once Paul inadvertently 
broke a twig and an old gander held up his 
head in alarm. They threw themselves flat 
and lay like logs in the snow until the gander 
assuming that he was mistaken in his premoni¬ 
tion of danger, resumed feeding. It was a 
moment of intense excitement for the young 
hunters. 

“ Now,” whispered Dan, when they had at 
length come abreast of the geese, “ an’ be 
careful.” 


[i35] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

Slowly they brought their guns to their 
shoulders, still lying flat on the ground, and 
fired. 

Instantly there was a great commotion 
among the geese, which, instead of rising and 
flying away, half ran on the surface of the 
water, flapping their wings to help them in 
their retreat. 

The guns rang out again. Before Paul, in 
his excitement, could reload, the game was 
quite out of range of his shotgun, but Dan with 
his rifle fired several more shots after the 
retreating birds. 

Five geese lay upon the water when the 
fusillade was over, and the boys hugged each 
other in an ecstasy of delight. 

“ How ’ll we get them? They ’re away out 
in deep water,” asked Paul. 

“ I ’ll get un,” said Dan, beginning to un¬ 
dress, “ I ’ll go in for un.” 

“ Let me do it, Dan,” suggested Paul. 
“ You do all the hard and disagreeable work.” 

“ Oh, I do n’t mind goin’ in. ’T ain’t so 
cold,” declared Dan, who was now stripped, 
and plunged fearlessly into the icy water. 

[136] 



Fired several more shots after the retreating 

birds 


















































THE WATERS CLEAR 


It was but a moment’s work to secure the 
geese, and Dan, standing barefooted in the 
snow, donned his clothes as quickly as possible, 
declaring the moment he was dressed that he 
“ felt fine and warm.” 

“ What luck!” exclaimed Paul, lifting 
goose after goose to test its weight. “ We’ve 
got enough to last us a whole week.” 

“ ’T is not luck,” remonstrated Dan, who 
never admitted that anything came by mere 
luck. “ Th’ Lord were skimpin’ our grub so’s 
we’d be careful of what we gets when we gets 
un, an’ then He sends along th’ pa’tridges an’ 
geese. Dad says ’t is th’ Lord’s way, when a 
feller’s doin’ all he kin for hisself.” 

“ Anyhow we got the geese.” 

The boys were in position to live very well 
now. They had no bread, for scarcely enough 
flour remained for one meal, and this little 
flour and a small bit of bacon were all that 
was left, save tea and salt, of the provisions 
they had brought from the ship. 

The morning after the goose hunt two rab¬ 
bits were found in Paul’s snares and he was 
greatly elated at his success, and on the same 
[i37] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


day several ptarmigans and a black duck were 
killed by Dan, materially increasing their 
stock of provisions. 

Then came a night of rain, and another 
morning found the land washed clear of snow. 
The sky had cleared, and a strong, steady 
breeze sprang up from the westward, as Dan 
had prophesied it would. Gradually under 
this influence the ice pack began to loosen and 
move seaward. 

The boys returned early from their hunting 
trips on succeeding days that Dan might 
devote the afternoons to repairs on the boat, 
that it might be made as seaworthy as possible. 
The repairs completed, he fitted, a mast for¬ 
ward, and with the light tarpaulin improvised 
a sail. He also provided a long stiff oar, 
which he fashioned with the axe, explaining to 
Paul that it was to be used in the stern to 
propel and steer the boat at times when the 
wind failed them, just as he had used the small 
oar when they went ashore from the ice pan. 

Gradually Paul had learned to cook their 
simple meals of game. He assumed this 
responsibility, provided fuel and attended to 
[138] 


THE WATERS CLEAR 


the general camp duties, not only that Dan 
might be free during daylight hours to devote 
his undivided attention to preparations for 
departure, but because he wished to feel that 
he, too, was doing his full share of the work. 

The weather had settled. By day the sun 
shone brilliantly, by night the stars and aurora 
lighted the heavens The ice continued to 
move. The bight was soon quite free from it, 
and at length the sea itself was so little 
obstructed that one day Dan announced it 
quite safe to begin their voyage of exploration 
to the southward. 

Preparations for departure had curtailed 
their hunting hours, but nevertheless they had 
four full days’ provisions when they broke 
camp and set sail in their frail craft. The 
wind was fair, and it was a beautiful, perfect 
morning. Their hearts were full of hope and 
expectancy, though they knew much less of 
the surrounding sea and dismal coast than did 
Henry Hudson, the great explorer, when he 
was set adrift upon the same waters by a 
mutinous crew nearly three hundred years 
before. 

[139] 


CHAPTER X 

A NARROW ESCAPE 


J_JURRAH!” shouted Paul, as Dan 
trimmed the sail and it filled with wind. 
“ Hurrah! We ’re off! ” 

“ I’m hopin’ th’ wind ’ll breeze up a bit; 
an’ she does, we ’ll be makin’ fine time,” re¬ 
marked Dan, pointing the boat for the open 
sea. “ She’s a rare good sailin’ craft.” 

“ Let me take the tiller, Dan. I can handle 
it, and I want to do something. You manage 
the sail.” 

“ An’ you wants,” said Dan, surrendering 
the tiller and settling comfortably amidships. 
“ Head her just outside that p’int o’ land,” he 
directed. 

“Isn’t it fine to be moving!” exclaimed 
Paul. “ But the old camping place grew to 
seem homelike to me. Was n’t it cozy when 
we first landed there from the ice, after we 
got our tent up and a fire started? ” 

[140] 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


“ Yes, ’twere wonderful snug an’ fine, but 
I finds it a rare sight better afloat, an’ s’uth- 
ard bound.” 

“ Do you know, Dan, it gives me a sort of 
scarey feeling to think we ’re out here alone 
in this little boat when there’s not another 
boat in sight, and likely there is n’t another 
within hundreds of miles of us, unless it’s the 
North Star; and we know that no one lives on 
the land. It’s a queer sort of feeling — noth¬ 
ing but a great big wilderness everywhere, and 
just us in it. But I’m glad to be here. I 
wonder what there is below that point and 
over the hill? ” 

“ ’T is a wonderful bleak country, I’m 
thinkin’, an’ I’m wishin’ we were knowin’ 
where th’ fur traders is, an’ where we ’re 
goin’.” Dan produced his harmonica as he 
spoke, drew it across his sleeve, and putting 
it to his lips blew a chord or two. 

“ It’s because we do n’t know, I guess, and 
the uncertainty about it, that makes it interest¬ 
ing to me. I feel like an explorer. It’s 
simply great to sail along and wonder all the 
time what we ’ll see next, and no way of find- 
[141] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


ing out till we get there. That makes it excit¬ 
ing and romantic.” 

“ I do n’t know as’t is very exciting,” said 
Dan, removing the harmonica from his lips, 
“ but ’t is a wonderful sight better ’n stayin’ 
around camp, with winter nigh, an’ ’t would 
be better yet if th’ ship came cruisin’ along t’ 
pick us up — which she won’t, as th’ ice sure 
drove she out.” 

With this, and as if to dismiss the subject, 
he struck up one of his favorite tunes, playing 
softly, and ceasing only long enough to say to 
Paul: “ A bit t’ port. That’s it, steady.” 

The morning air was crisp and frosty. The 
sun illumined the eastern heavens in a blaze of 
wondrous colors, and presently raised his face 
above the glistening sea. Even the bleak coast, 
austere and rugged, possessed a unique gran¬ 
deur and compelling beauty. The wind 
sprang up with the rising sun, and the little 
boat bowled along at a good speed, upon a 
gentle swell. Now and again Dan would trim 
the sail, and give an instruction to Paul, 
“ Port lee a bit,” or “ Starb’rd a bit,” and re¬ 
turn to his music. 

[142] 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


Paul was thinking of home, of his mother 
and father, and his homecoming — some time. 
He had no doubt that he and Dan would 
extricate themselves from the wilderness, for 
he had grown to have unbounded faith in 
Dan’s resourcefulness and ingenuity. He 
wondered what his parents would say, when 
Mr. Remington returned without him, if 
Dan’s assurance that the ship could never have 
remained in the face of the ice were correct. 

While he realized and regretted the anxiety 
his absence would cause his parents, it did not 
occur to him that any one would believe that 
he and Dan were drowned. He believed that 
his father would send a vessel for them when 
the ice passed out of Hudson Bay the follow¬ 
ing summer, and that in the meantime he and 
Dan would be quite comfortable at some trad¬ 
ing post which they should presently find. 

He was thrilled with the delights of adven¬ 
ture, now that any real danger seemed past, 
and he made for himself pleasant pictures of 
his return to school and the role of hero he 
would fill in the eyes of the other fellows. 

Presently Dan ceased playing, and they 
[143] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

chatted intermittently. Once a great sea crea¬ 
ture raised its back directly in front of them. 

“ What’s that? ” asked Paul. 

“ A white whale,” answered Dan, as the 
thing sank, to appear again much farther out 
to sea. 

At another time they passed several seals, 
and Paul wished to shoot at them, but Dan 
advised: 

“ ’T is rare hard t’ hit un, an’ if you did hit 
one an’ kill un, she’d sink before we could get 
un. An’ we ’ll be needin’ all th’ cartridges,” 
so Paul did not shoot. 

The sun was close to the western horizon 
when, ravenously hungry, for they had eaten 
nothing since breakfast, they ran into a little 
cove, unloaded their belongings, hauled the 
boat to a safe position, and made camp. They 
had kept steadily going all day, for Dan had 
been unwilling to lose advantage of the fair 
wind, and had they gone ashore to cook dinner 
it would have consumed at least an hour of 
valuable time. 

“ Th’ days is growin’ wonderful short,” 
said Dan, “ an’ we ’ll have t’ be usin’ all of the 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


daylight when th’ wind’s fair an’ good. 
’T will save grub, too, if we eats only twice a 
day.” 

During the four succeeding days they made 
indifferent progress. The weather was glo¬ 
rious, but the wind for hours at a stretch died 
to a dead calm, the sail hung slack, and to 
keep in motion they were compelled to work 
at their stern oar, and progress by this means 
was slow and tedious. 

They were very sparing of their provisions. 
A couple of geese were killed and added to 
their store, but nothing else. Then came an¬ 
other day with a good breeze, but when they 
went into camp that night they had only a 
gull to divide between them for supper. It 
was an unpromising shore for game, and Dan 
expressed himself of the belief that it would 
be quite fruitless to hunt. 

“ If we sees any place tomorrow that looks 
like a river, or a likely place for huntin’, 
we ’ll land an’ try un,” he commented as, very 
hungry, they settled for the night. 

There was not a scrap to eat for breakfast. 
Paul declared he could eat his shoes, and Dan 
[145] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


facetiously advised that he fill up on water, 
the one thing that was abundant. They set 
sail as the first light of dawn appeared in the 
east. Paul shivered in the frosty atmosphere, 
and both of the young voyagers sat despond¬ 
ently quiet, until the sun pushed his big glow¬ 
ing face above the eastern waters, and seemed 
to laugh at them. 

“ Dad says, ‘ Keep a stiff upper lip, do th’ 
best un can, an’ she ’ll work out all right,’ ” 
encouraged Dan, at length, breaking the si¬ 
lence. “ They ain’t nothin’ we can do but keep 
goin’ an’ watch out for game. Th’ Lord’s 
been watchin’ out for us right along, an’ He’s 
got His eye on us now, I’m thinkin’. We 
ain’t been lookin’ much for grub. We been 
thinkin’ too much about gettin’ on. An’ we 
looks out, we ’ll be gettin’ grub before night. 
They’s been chances t’ kill grub every day, 
but we been goin’ right on an’ not takin’ un.” 

“ We ’ll have to get something pretty soon 
or we ’ll starve to death,” said Paul. “ I 
wonder how long people can live without 
eating? ” 

“ I’m not knowin’ just how long. Dad’s 
[146] 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


been a week more ’n once without eatin’, an’ 
he says ’twere just makin’ he a bit weak, but 
not hurtin’ he none.” 

“ I’m sure I never could stand it for a 
week.” 

“ Oh, yes, un could. Dad says ’t is bad 
when folks gives up, an’ thinks they’s goin’ 
t’ die after fastin’ for a bit.” 

“ But we can’t live unless we eat,” insisted 
Paul. 

“ No, but we can go a wonderful time with¬ 
out eatin’ before we dies, if we only thinks we 
can.” 

The wind was rising. White caps were 
appearing upon the surface of the sea, and 
presently the boat began now and again to ship 
water. 

“ We ’ll have t’ make shore th’ first prom¬ 
isin’ place,” suggested Dan. “ We ’re sure in 
for a blow. There’s a p’int ahead, and we ’ll 
make for th’ lee of un.” 

The wind was in the northeast, and it drove 
the little craft before it at a terrific rate. In 
an incredibly short time it had developed into 
a tempest. The angry waters piled about them 
[147] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

and tossed the boat about upon the wave crests 
like a leaf. While Paul held the rudder Dan 
lowered the sail, and they ran before the gale 
with bared mast. Dan resumed the rudder 
and Paul baled out the water, working as he 
had never worked before. 

“We’ll never make it, Dan!” he shouted 
at length. “ We ’ll swamp, sure! ” 

“ Oh, yes; we ’re gainin’ on un,” encouraged 
Dan. “ We ’ll make un.” 

Dan’s face, however, was tense, and it was 
plain that he was not so confident as his words 
seemed to indicate. 

They had almost passed the point when a 
great wave broke over them, nearly swamping 
the boat, and leaving it half full of water, but 
they made the point, and passed into less tem¬ 
pestuous waters before another wave caught 
them. 

Even here the sea was as rough as the little 
boat could weather, for the shore was not so 
well protected as it had seemed, and it was 
lined with jagged rocks, making a landing im¬ 
possible, for to have attempted it would have 
resulted in the boat’s smashing to pieces and 
[148] 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


perhaps their being carried away before they 
could reach safety. 

Dan watched for an opening, as they par¬ 
alleled the shore a safe distance from it, and 
at length discovered a bit of gravelly beach 
reaching down between high boulders. 

It was a difficult landing to make, but it 
was their only hope, and he headed directly 
for the opening. 

“ Get t’ th’ bow an’ jump th’ minute we 
strikes! ” he shouted to Paul, and Paul obeyed. 

For an instant it seemed that in spite of 
Dan’s best effort they must strike upon the 
rocks, the next instant the danger was past, the 
boat drove hard upon the gravel, and both 
boys sprang ashore for their lives, to escape a 
breaker which swept over the boat. 

One on either side they grasped the bow, 
and as another wave came rolling in, pulled 
with all their might. Thus, aided by the force 
of the water, the boat was drawn sufficiently 
high to permit them to unload, bale out the 
water, and haul the boat to safety. 

“ We made un all right,” remarked Dan, 
when everything was beyond danger. 

[149] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Yes,” said Paul, “ but it was a narrow 
escape.” 

“ ’T were that,” admitted Dan. “ ’T were 
wonderful close we was t’ bein’ swamped.” 

The boys themselves and all their things 
were drenching wet. Not a stick of driftwood 
was to be found. The wind was bitterly cold. 
They had eaten nothing since the previous 
evening, and then only the unsatisfying gull, 
and the barren coast was destitute of game. 
But they had escaped death, and were thank¬ 
ful for their deliverance. 


[150] 


CHAPTER XI 
A DEATH STRUGGLE 



E ’D better open th’ outfit up, an’ let 


th’ wind be dryin’ un while we hunts 
grub,” suggested Dan, as he unfolded a blan¬ 
ket and proceeded to spread it upon the 
ground, after they had made a brief survey of 
their immediate surroundings. 

“ I’m so dead hungry and empty I can 
hardly move,” said Paul, sitting impotently on 
a rock. “ I feel weak, too. The scare, and 
pulling on the boat, just about knocked the 
ginger out of me.” 

“ We ’ll be findin’ timber dost by, an’ they’s 
a good chanst t’ kill some grub before night. 
’T ain’t noon yet. We ’ll start soon’s we get 
th’ things spread, an’ I’m thinkin’ we ’ll be 
good an’ snug by night,” encouraged Dan. 

“ It’s all my fault that we ever got into this 
scrape, Dan,” Paul remarked dejectedly, as he 
arose to assist in unpacking the wet things. “ If 


[ 15 1 1 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


I’d listened to you, and done as I promised, 
we’d have been safe on the ship now, instead 
of starving to death out here.” 

“ They’s no tellin’,” Dan consoled. “ I’m 
thinkin’ ’t would have been the same anyhow. 
Maybe’t was meant we be goin’ adrift. Least- 
ways ’t ain’t no use botherin’ about un now. 
Dad say what’s done is done, an’ ’t ain’t 
no use botherin’ our heads about a thing 
after she’s done an’ past. What’s past 
might as well be forgot. Dad says’t ain’t what 
was, but what is, as counts. He says: ‘ If you 
were n’t doin’ things right yesterday, ’t ain’t 
goin’t’ help none t’ bother about un t’day, but 
just do th’ things you has to do t’day right, 
an’ do un th’ best un can, an’ what you were n’t 
doin’ right yesterday won’t count ag’in you.’ ” 

“ Maybe you ’re right, Dan, and I may as 
well quit worrying about it. One thing’s cer¬ 
tain. When I promise to do anything at a 
certain time again, I’m going to do it. And 
I’m going to do the best I can now, and stop 
complaining. I wish I could do things as well 
as you do. You know how to do everything.” 

“ They’s a wonderful lot o’ things I’m not 
[152] 


A DEATH STRUGGLE 


knowin’ how t’ do. I’m knowin’ how t’ sail 
a boat an’ do things around camp, because I 
always had t’ do un. ’T won’t be long till you 
knows how t’ do un too, an’ then you ’ll know 
a lot more ’n I do. Where you lives you had 
t’ learn t’ do other kinds o’ things, an’ them 
things you knows how t’ do I do n’t know 
nothin’ about. Dad says learnin’ t’ do things 
is like plants growin’. 1 If you plants a turnip 
seed t’day,’ says he, 1 you can’t pull a turnip 
from un th’ same day. Th’ turnip’s got t’ 
have time t’ grow after th’ seed’s planted, an’ 
you can’t learn t’ do things what’s worth 
knowin’ how t’ do,’ says he, ‘ in one day. You 
got t’ keep learnin’ a little about un every day 
till you learns how t’ do un.’ You learn about 
doin’ things in camp wonderful quick, Paul.” 

“ Thank you, Dan. You always encourage 
me. I’d have given up long ago if it had n’t 
been for you.” 

“ Oh, no, you would n’t. You’d have been 
findin’ out how t’ do things. You got a rare 
lot o’ pluck.” 

By this time the things were spread where 
wind and sun could dry them, with boulders 
[153] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


placed upon them as a precaution against the 
wind carrying them away. 

“Now,” said Dan,” shouldering his rifle, 
“ we ’ll be goin’. ’T will be best t’ bring your 
shotgun an’ plenty o’ shells, an’ I’m thinkin’ 
we ’ll find grub, an’ be feelin’ better when we 
makes camp this evenin’.” 

Three quarters of a mile inland lay a ridge 
of low, barren hills. Dan, in the lead, directed 
their course toward it, and set a good pace, 
with Paul, who was learning the trick of walk¬ 
ing over rough, untrailed country with less 
effort than formerly, close at his heels. 

Paul bore small resemblance now to the 
sallow, listless youth who in July climbed the 
ladder to the deck of the North Star, lying in 
Sydney harbor. His face was brown and 
ruddy, his eyes bright, his limbs lithe, his step 
springy, and he had grown eager and alert. 
Both he and Dan were, however, now con¬ 
scious of a growing weakness, the natural 
result of insufficient food for several days, and 
particularly due to their unbroken fast of 
several hours. 

At the foot of the ridge they encountered a 
[154] 


A DEATH STRUGGLE 


growth of straggling spruce brush. Above 
the brush, near the summit, the hills were of a 
reddish hue, in marked contrast to the sur¬ 
rounding gray. This red coloring, they pres¬ 
ently discovered upon ascending the ridge, was 
given the hills by masses of red berries, half 
the size of ordinary cranberries but resembling 
them in flavor and appearance. 

The wind swept the ridge with terrific fury, 
and was very cold, but they fell upon their 
knees, uncomfortable as it was, and partially 
satisfied their hunger with the fruit. 

“ They ain’t so bad,” remarked Dan, “ but 
they’s so sour I’m thinkin’ we better not eat 
too many t’ onct.” 

“ They are pretty sour,” admitted Paul, 
reluctantly rising to follow'Dan, “but they 
taste mighty good.” 

“ If we do n’t kill nothin’ we can eat more 
of un when we comes back. But I’m thinkin’ 
we ’ll find pa’tridges along here, feedin’ on 
un. Pa’tridges is wonderful fond o’ berries, 
an’ they ’ll not be missin’ a feedin’ ground like 
this. Th’ kind that takes t’ th’ hills is bigger ’n 
better ’n them that sticks t’ th’ willers. They 
[i55] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


both turns white in winter, an’ they’s both 
better ’n th’ spruce pa’tridges that sticks t’ th’ 
spruce timber.” 

“ Maybe you better take the shotgun, Dan. 
You can shoot quicker than I can, and if we 
see any partridges we’ve just got to get them.” 

“ You shoots fine, but I knows better how t’ 
look for th’ pa’tridges, an’ I ’ll take un. With 
th’ wind they’s like t’ be wonderful wild.” 

Dan passed his light rifle over to Paul, and 
with Paul’s shotgun proceeded to the top of 
the ridge, keeping a careful lookout, as he 
walked, while Paul followed a little distance 
in the rear. On the summit Dan halted until 
Paul joined him. 

“ ’T is fine,” said Dan; “ look now.” 

Below them lay a wooded valley, the green 
spruce trees splotched with golden yellow 
patches, where groves of tamaracks had taken 
on their autumnal coloring. To the westward 
a small lake shimmered in the sunlight, and 
leading to the southward from it could be 
traced the winding course of a creek which 
was presently lost among barren hills beyond. 

“ Is n’t it fine! ” exclaimed Paul. 

[156] 


A DEATH STRUGGLE 

“ An’ ’t is like t’ be a game country.” 

“ Oh, I hope so!” 

“ Now I ’ll be leadin’ ag’in, an’ you fol¬ 
lows a bit behind.” 

A little way down the slope Dan stopped 
again, and when Paul overtook him, pointed 
to the berries at his feet. 

“ See th’ signs? They’s been feedin’ right 
here. Just over there they been wallerin’ in 
th’ sand.” 

He went forward again noiselessly, care¬ 
fully scanning the receding slope ahead. 
Presently he began a more cautious advance, 
halting now and again and then advancing. 

All at once, quick as a flash he threw the 
gun to his shoulder and fired — bang! bang! 
— both barrels almost as one. Quickly he 
dropped two fresh shells in the gun, and run¬ 
ning forward fired both barrels again. As he 
did so a great flock of ptarmigans, with a noise 
like the wind, rose and flew far away, appar¬ 
ently alighting at the edge of the timber below 
them. 

Paul hurried down to Dan, who was gather¬ 
ing up the fruits of his hunt. There were 
[i57] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


eleven fat birds, now nearly white, in their 
winter dress. 

Paul, in happy thankfulness, could scarcely 
control his emotion. 

“ It seems almost too good to be true, 
Dan! ” he said finally. 

“ I finds un fine too,” admitted Dan. 
“ They was wonderful tame for a windy day, 
an’ just runs instead of flyin’ after I fires th’ 
first shots. That gives me time t’ load an’ 
shoot ag’in.” 

“ But how did you get so many with just 
four shots? Oh, Dan, I believe it’s just as 
you always say; it was Providence sent us here 
and let you get so many.” 

“ ’T were that. On th’ ground I lines ’em 
up, an’ knocks over two or three to a shot, 
except th’ last shots, when they flies away, I 
only gets one on th’ wing. ’T is hard t’ get 
more ’n one when they’s flyin’. Th’ Lord just 
kept ’em on th’ ground! ” 

“And now we can eat again!” exclaimed 
Paul. 

“ Yes, an’ th’ finest kind o’ eatin’ too. I ’ll 
be lookin’ for th’ flock, where they flies to, an’ 
[158] 


A DEATH STRUGGLE 


try for another shot, while you plucks two, an’ 
cooks un,” suggested Dan, and when they 
reached the edge of the timber he directed: 

“ Go straight in here till you comes t’ th’ 
creek, an’ put on your fire there, an’ I ’ll be 
findin’ you.” 

Entering the timber, Paul found himself 
sheltered from the wind, in pleasant contrast 
to the open hills. Scarcely two hundred yards 
from where he parted from Dan he came upon 
the creek. Though he had no axe he made his 
fire without difficulty, profiting by the wood 
lore learned from Dan. He had also learned 
the knack of plucking birds quickly, and in a 
little while had the two ptarmigans, impaled 
upon sticks, broiling before the blaze, while 
he basked in the warmth, and filled in his time 
plucking the remaining birds. 

Dan had not yet put in his appearnce when 
Paul decided that the ptarmigans were quite 
done. He removed them from the fire, and 
with a strong exercise of self-restraint waited 
for Dan to join him in the repast. Presently, 
however, hunger got the better of him. 

“ There is n’t any use waiting for Dan,” he 
[i59] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


finally said to himself. “ I simply can’t stand 
it another minute,” and he ate one of the birds 
with a relish beyond anything, he thought, 
that he had ever before experienced. The 
temptation to eat the other was very strong, 
but he turned his back upon it, and, lying 
down, was presently dozing. 

How long he had been asleep he did not 
know, but at length he opened his eyes, sud¬ 
denly wide awake, with a consciousness that 
something was watching him. The fire had 
died to smouldering coals, and he was cold, 
but fear of the watcher impelled him to re¬ 
main motionless and still, while he peered into 
the shadow of the timber. 

Presently he discovered in a clump of 
bushes on the opposite side of the creek a pair 
of glowing amber-green eyes. They were 
malicious, piercing eyes, and Paul’s heart 
stood still for a moment. Then he remem¬ 
bered what Dan had often told him: “ They 
ain’t nothin’ in this country t’ be scared of 
unless you comes on a big pack o’ wolves, an’ 
they’s mostly cowards,” and his courage 
returned. 


[160] 


A DEATH STRUGGLE 


Very cautiously he reached for Dan’s rifle, 
and with exceeding care sighted it upon a spot 
just between the glistening eyes. Then steady¬ 
ing his nerves, and holding his breath for an 
instant, he fired. 

Simultaneously with the explosion some¬ 
thing sprang into the air and then fell back 
upon the ground. Whatever the thing was, 
he had hit it. Highly excited, he dropped the 
rifle, and regardless of the icy waters forded 
the creek, dashed up the opposite bank, and 
without doubt that the animal was quite dead, 
ran directly in, incautiously, toward the clump 
of bushes where it had fallen. 

Suddenly, when less than ten feet from the 
bushes, a great snarling, malevolent cat-like 
beast appeared at the edge of the cover, di¬ 
rectly before him. 

Paul stopped, stupefied at the unex¬ 
pected appearance. The animal crouched for 
a spring. It was too late to retreat. Paul’s 
heart stood still. A cold chill ran up his spine. 
He had left his rifle at the fire, and was quite 
defenseless, save for the hunting knife at his 
belt. He grabbed the knife, and as the beast 
[161] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


leaped toward him instinctively threw up his 
arms to guard his face. 

Its fore paws landed squarely upon his 
shoulders. With one hand he grasped its 
throat, and with a tremendous, unnatural 
strength pushed it from him, while with the 
other hand he slashed blindly with his knife 
at its body. He could feel its sharp claws 
tearing his flesh. Then the earth began to 
reel, darkness came, and he fell unconscious. 



He could feel its sharp claws tearing his flesh 





































CHAPTER XII 


FACTOR MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 



HEN Paul opened his eyes he felt 


very damp and uncomfortable. As his 
vision cleared he beheld Dan standing over 
him with his hat full of water, which Dan was 
undoubtedly about to dash into his face. 

“ Do n’t Dan! Do n’t throw that on me! ” 
he plead weakly. “ What you wetting me 
down that way for? ” 

“You cornin’ to all right?” asked Dan. 
“ You fainted, an’ I were sousin’ you t’ bring 
you to. I’m thinkin’ I better souse you this 
un. ’T will do no harm.” 

“Oh, Dan-” 

But Paul’s protest came too late, and he 
received the contents of the hat full in his face. 

“ There,” said Dan with satisfaction, “ I’m 
thinkin’ that ’ll be enough, an’ bring you to, 
all right. How you feelin’? ” 

“ All right now.” His voice was stronger, 


[163] 



THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


but still weak. “ That thing ’most killed me, 
didn’t it?” 

“ You ’re a long way from dyin’ yet, but you 
were havin’ a rare fine fight with th’ varmint, 
an’ when you kills un you faints. Feelin’ 
stronger? I’m thinkin’ a bit more water ’ll 
be helpin’ you, now.” 

“No! No, Dan!” plead Paul, trying to 
rise, but still too weak. “ Do n’t throw any 
more water on me. I’m soaked and freezing 
with it now.” 

“ Well, maybe you ’re havin’ enough,” said 
Dan, uncertainly. “ Dad says th’ best thing t’ 
bring a feller around when he gets done up is 
plenty o’ water.” 

“ What kind of an animal was that? When 
it came leaping at me I thought my time had 
come.” 

“ ’T were a lynx, an’ a wonderful big un, 
too, an’ nice an’ fat. He ’ll make fine eatin’. 
How’d he come t’ fight? I never heard o’ 
one fightin’ before. They always runs.” 

“ Why, I shot him, and thought I’d killed 
him, and when I came over without the rifle 
he jumped on me.” 

[164] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 

Dan examined the bloody carcass of the 
great lynx lying by Paul’s side. 

“ There’s where your bullet comes,” said 
he, pointing at a furrow along the top of the 
head. “ ’T were breakin’ th’ skin an’ stunnin’ 
he. He just comes to, like you ’re doin’ now, 
when you gets over, an’ bein’ sort o’ cornered 
he jumps on you. That’s th’ way of all beasts. 
Anything ’ll turn on a feller when ’t is cor¬ 
nered.” 

“ I thought I was a goner, and I do n’t 
understand how I ever killed it. Do I seem to 
be hurt much? I feel sore all over.” 

“Not so bad. Scratched a bit, but ’t ain’t 
no account. You sticks your knife in his heart. 
Feelin’ like gettin’ up now? ” 

“ I ’ll try.” 

With Dan’s assistance Paul rose to his feet, 
but he felt very weak, and uncertain on his 
legs. 

“ I never can walk back to the boat, Dan.” 

“ We ’ll not be goin’ back t’ th’ boat this 
evenin’. There, keep a good holt of me, an’ 
we ’ll cross th’ creek an’ put a fire on. You ’re 
shiverin’ with th’ cold.” 

[165] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Dan piloted the tottering Paul to a com¬ 
fortable place beside the embers of Paul’s 
former fire, relighted the fire and presently 
had a cheerful blaze. Then he broke some 
spruce boughs for a couch, and when Paul 
said he was quite comfortable and feeling 
“ bully good again, except for the sore spots,” 
Dan spread out before him a porcupine, a big 
Arctic hare and five more ptarmigans. 

“ That’s what I were gettin’ on th’ hunt,” 
he announced proudly. “ Now what you 
thinkin’ o’ un? ” 

“ Dan, that’s just fine. Why, we can live 
like kings now. I suppose that’s a porcupine, 
isn’t it? And of course it’s good to eat — 
everything seems to be good to eat in this 
country.” 

“Yes, they’s rare fine eatin’. I likes un 
as well as deer’s meat. Now I ’ll have a snack 
an’ then pack th’ tent an’ beddin’ in here. I 
feels wonderful gaunt.” 

“Dan, you’re a wonder! Here you’ve 
been tramping after game all this time, and 
stopping to help me, without a thing to eat 
since yesterday.” 

[166] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 

“ If a feller gets game he’s got t’ keep after 
un when he sees un,” commented Dan, be¬ 
tween mouthfuls of the now cold ptarmigan 
Paul had cooked for him. “ An’ ’t is tastin’ 
wonderful fine, now I gets un. We ’ll be 
havin’ a good feed when I gets back, an’ 
we ’ll find th’ tent rare snug in this timber, 
free from th’ gale. She’s blowin’ wonderful 
stiff outside.” 

“ I’m strong enough now, I guess, to go 
along and help carry the things. I do n’t want 
you to do it alone, Dan. You do all the hard 
things,” and Paul attempted to rise. 

“ You ’ll be stayin’ where you is,” objected 
Dan, forcing Paul back upon his couch. 
“ ’T is but a light load for me. I’m used t’ 
packin’, an’ I ’ll not be long.” 

“ I do feel pretty weak,” admitted Paul, 
settling on his couch again. 

When Dan returned an hour later the sun 
had set. He brought with him the tent, 
blankets, cooking utensils and stove, but 
declared they were not heavy. He declined 
Paul’s assistance in pitching the tent, and 
working with the skill of a woodsman soon 
[167] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


had all in readiness for the night, a fire in 
the stove, and three ptarmigans stewing in the 
kettle. 

“ They’s a wonderful rough sea runnin’,” 
he remarked when he finally sat down. “ I’m 
thinkin’ we ’ll not be gettin’ out o’ here for 
two days yet. Th’ wind’s shifted t’ th’ west- 
’ard an’ she’s blowin’ a gale, an’ she’s kickin’ 
up a sea as won’t settle in a day after th’ blow 
stops.” 

Dan’s weather prophecy proved quite cor¬ 
rect, and three days passed before they were 
permitted by weather and sea to break camp 
and resume their journey. Paul’s wounds 
were not serious, though the deep scratches 
he had received were painful and trouble¬ 
some. However, he was able while they re¬ 
mained ashore to attend to camp duties, while 
Dan hunted. 

Under Dan’s direction he roasted the four 
quarters of lynx and the porcupine, together 
with another porcupine Dan had secured, as 
a reserve supply of food. The porcupines 
were placed upon the coals and the quills and 
hair thoroughly singed off, after which they 
[168] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


were scraped. This done, a big log fire was 
built. On either side and slightly in front of 
the fire a stake was driven, and a pole extend¬ 
ing from stake to stake was tied in position. 
From the pole, and directly before the fire, 
the porcupines and quarters of lynx were so 
suspended, each at the end of a string, that 
they hung just high enough to clear the 
ground. By occasionally twirling the string 
upon which each was hung, every portion of 
the roasting meat was exposed to the heat and 
thoroughly cooked. 

Paul found Dan’s estimate of porcupine not 
at all overdrawn. He declared it not unlike, 
and even superior to, roasted young pig; and 
the lynx he insisted was equal to the finest 
veal. 

Dan’s hunting during this period brought 
them, besides the second porcupine, forty 
more ptarmigans and three snowshoe rabbits. 
Thus when they broke camp they were not 
only well fed but were well supplied with 
provisions for several days. 

It was early dawn of a keen, cold morning 
when they turned toward the boat with the 
[169] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


outfit on their backs. The frost crackled 
under foot, and when the sun broke out, as 
they were crossing the berry-covered ridge, it 
set the frost-covered earth sparkling and scin¬ 
tillating, transforming it into a fairy world 
strewn with diamonds. 

From the hilltop they could see the sea 
stretching far away to the eastward in a sil¬ 
very, shimmering sheen. 

“Isn’t it immense!” exclaimed Paul, as 
they sat beside their packs for a brief rest. 
“ I’ve learned to love the sea, in spite of the 
rough way it’s knocked us about, and I ’ll be 
mighty glad to be afloat again.” 

“ ’T is wonderful fine,” admitted Dan, ris¬ 
ing to lead the way down. 

A gentle swell was running, and with a 
good sailing breeze from the northwest they 
made excellent progress. To their astonish¬ 
ment, however, they discovered early in the 
afternoon a long coast line, just discernible, 
directly east of them. 

“Now this must be a bay we’re runnin’ 
into,” suggested Dan when this new coast was 
discovered, “ and I’m thinkin’ ’twill be best 
[170] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


to cross un, for if we runs t’ th’ head of un 
we ’ll be losin’ a rare lot o’ time.” 

Accordingly they took an easterly course, 
and with sunset made a comfortable landing 
and cheerful camp, where driftwood in plenty 
was to be found for their stove. It was a cozy, 
snug camp, and a savory supper of hot broth 
and boiled birds, added to the satisfaction of 
having accomplished a good day’s voyage to 
the southward, made them very jolly and 
happy. 

When they had eaten Dan produced his 
harmonica and blew a few notes. Suddenly 
he ceased the music and listened intently, then 
springing to his feet left the tent. Paul, aware 
that something of importance had happened, 
was close at his heels. Outside Dan listened 
again, keeping silence for several minutes. 
Then he asked excitedly: 

“ Does you hear un? Does you hear un? ” 

“ Yes, what is it? ” asked Paul, also excited. 
“ Wolves?” 

“ Dogs! ’T is husky dogs! They’s huskies 
dost by t’ th’ east’ard, an’ them’s their dogs 
howlin’ ! Hear un! ” 

[171] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


They were silent again for a moment, to be 
certain that there was no mistake, and as the 
distant “ How-oo, how-oo, how-oo ” came up 
from the eastward, Paul shouted: 

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” and then threw his 
cap in the air in an ecstasy of delight. 

“ They’s down t’ th’ east’ard, an’ we ’ll 
sure see un tomorrow,” said Dan. “ When 
I first hears un in th’ tent, I were thinkin’ 
’twere wolves howlin’, they howls so like 
wolves. But ’t ain’t wolves, ’t is sure husky 
dogs.” 

“ And tomorrow we ’ll meet people again, 
even if they are huskies, and our troubles will 
be ended! Oh, Dan, I’m so thankful I can 
hardly contain myself! ” 

They sat and talked about home and the 
hope of the morrow until late, and even when 
they did lie down excitement and anticipation 
kept them still talking and awake until at last 
they fell into restless sleep. 

Long before daybreak Dan arose very 
quietly for a look at the weather and to light 
the fire, but quiet as he was Paul heard him. 
“ Is it time to get up, Dan? ” he asked. 

[172] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


“ ’T will soon be time,” answered Dan. 
“ I wakes an’ gets up, for we ’re wantin’ t’ be 
early, sure, so’s t’ be fair ready t’ start soon’s 
we can see.” 

“I can hardly wait to get away!” ex¬ 
claimed Paul. 

Breakfast was eaten in darkness, and the 
boat loaded and ready for the start before the 
first hint of dawn appeared in the east. In 
spite of their impatience Dan deemed it un¬ 
wise, however, to venture upon the unknown 
waters until it was sufficiently light to avoid 
submerged reefs and treacherous bars, and for 
nearly an hour they were compelled to walk 
up and down the shore to keep warm, for the 
morning was stinging cold. At length Dan 
announced: 

“ We may’s well be goin’ now. ’T is fair 
light.” 

They hugged the shore closely, turning the 
boat into every cove and bight, that there 
might be no possibility of missing the Eskimos 
for whom they were looking. 

“ There!” said Dan at length. “There 
they is! ” 


[i73] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Deep down in a cove, in a shelter of a 
towering ledge of rocks, stood a skin tupek of 
the Eskimos. Two men and some women 
and children, who had discovered the ap¬ 
proaching boat even before Dan had discov¬ 
ered them, were watching them curiously 
from the beach. 

The welcome was most hospitable, as the 
welcome of Eskimos always is, everyone shak¬ 
ing hands with Paul and Dan, laughing and 
greeting them with “ Oksunae.” 

Presently they learned that one of the men 
could speak broken English, and Dan related 
to him, making him understand with some 
difficulty, their adventures. 

“ Kablunok soon,” said he, “ close.” 

“No understand. What’s ‘ kablunok ’ ?” 
Dan asked. 

“ Kablunok, white man. Very close.” 

“ Where is un? ” 

“ Post; there,” pointing south. “ Very close. 
Mr. MacTavish.” 

The Eskimos indicated a direction appar¬ 
ently inland from their position. 

“ No water? ” asked Dan. “ We walk? ” 
[174] 



The Eskimos were watching them curiously from 

the beach 


























































MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


“ No; water plenty. Big point,” explained 
the Eskimo, drawing on the sand two parallel 
lines, rounded together at one end. “ Land,” 
he explained. “ We here,” indicating a point 
on one side of it, “ post here,” indicating an¬ 
other point almost directly opposite. “ Umiak, 
boat, sail round.” 

This made the situation clear to Dan. The 
Eskimo encampment was on one side of a 
long, narrow peninsula, while on the opposite 
side of the peninsula was located a trading 
post, and by sailing around the extreme point 
of the peninsula they would presently reach 
the post. 

The lads were anxious to proceed at once, 
but the Eskimos insisted upon their drinking 
some hot tea which one of the women had pre¬ 
pared. They then said adieu to their friends, 
and with light hearts and high expectations 
resumed their journey, which they felt was 
now, with all its hardships and uncertainties, 
soon to end. 

Early in the forenoon the sun disappeared 
behind thickening gray clouds, and before 
midday, when they rounded the point, 4n 
[i75] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


early storm was threatening. But the young 
wanderers gave small thought to this, for 
presently they were to reach the post, where 
they would be secure from wintry blast and 
driving snow. In their impatience the time 
passed tediously, and dusk was settling when 
at last Dan exclaimed: 

“ There she is! There’s th’ post! ” 

Lying back from the shore were the low 
white buildings of Fort Reliance, a famous 
post of the Hudson Bay Company. Smoke 
was rising from its chimneys, and as they 
looked lights began to flicker in the windows. 
Behind the post rose rugged, barren hills of 
storm-scoured rocks. On a flat bit of ground 
to the westward of the buildings Indian camp¬ 
fires lighted the thickening gloom, and in 
dark silhouette Indian tepees stood out against 
the sky line. But despite its austere setting 
and bleak surroundings, old Fort Reliance 
appealed to the two expectant, weather-beaten 
youths as the most attractive haven on earth. 

It was quite dark when the bow of their 
boat finally grated upon the gravelly beach 
below the post. The landing was deserted, 
[176] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


save by skulking, sinister-looking wolf dogs 
which prowled about, snarling at one another, 
ever ready to attack the unwary man or beast 
that fell in their way. 

The first flakes of the coming snowstorm 
were falling as the boys sprang ashore and 
made fast their boat. This secured, they fol¬ 
lowed a well-beaten path to the door of a long, 
low building whose cheerfully lighted win¬ 
dows bespoke warmth and comfort within. 
On the threshold they hesitated for a moment, 
then Dan knocked boldly upon the door. 

“ Come in,” a voice called. 

Paul took the lead, and entering they found 
themselves in a large square room, lighted 
by kerosene lamps and heated by a big wood 
stove which crackled a cheery welcome. Next 
the walls were several desks, two of them 
occupied by young men busily engaged with 
their pens. 

“ Why, hello,” said the one near the door. 
“ I thought it was one of the men. Are you 
up from York factory? ” 

“ No,” answered Paul, “ we came from the 
north. We got lost in the fog, and our ship 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


got away without us.” With this introduction 
he told the story briefly of their experiences. 
“ And,” continued he, “ we want to put up 
here until a ship comes for us. I suppose that 
won’t be until next summer, but my father 
will send it then, and he ’ll pay your bill.” 

“ You ’ll have to talk with Mr. MacTavish, 
the master of the post, about that. He ’ll be 
in soon. Sit down.” 

Presently the door opened, and a tall, 
broad-shouldered, powerful man, with full 
gray beard and shrewd eyes, entered. The 
young man stepped smartly forward. 

“ These young fellows went adrift from 
their ship somewhere to the northward, sir,” 
said he. “They’ve worked their way down 
here in a small boat, and they want to be put 
up for the winter.” 

Paul and Dan had respectfully risen to 
their feet. Mr. MacTavish’s appearance as 
he surveyed them was anything but reassur¬ 
ing. There was a certain hard look about his 
eyes and mouth that was repelling. His atti¬ 
tude was not cordial, even before he spoke. 

“ Do you want to buy provisions? ” 

[178] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 

“ No,” answered Paul, “ we want to put up 
here for the winter.” 

“ This isn’t a hotel; it’s a Hudson Bay 
trading post. If you want to pitch your tent, 
one of the men will point you out a good 
place, and you can buy provisions at the 
shop.” 

“ But,” said Paul, his heart sinking, “ we 
have n’t any money,” and he proceeded again 
to relate with detail the story of their adven¬ 
tures. “ My father is rich,” he added, “ and 
he ’ll pay all our expenses when the ship 
comes for us. You must have heard of him. 
He is John Densmore, president of the Atlan¬ 
tic and Pacific Steamship Company, and the 
head of a lot of other big companies.” 

“ I tell you this is n’t a hotel, young man, 
and even if your father is all you say, it’s no 
recommendation to me. I do n’t like you 
Americans. But to be plain, I do n’t believe 
your yarn. I know your type. You’ve de¬ 
serted from a whaler, and you probably stole 
the boat you have. I can harbor neither 
thieves nor deserters,” and he turned toward 
one of the desks in dismissal of them. 

[179] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

For a moment Paul was quite stupefied 
with the affront. Then his pride and a sense 
of deep injustice roused his antagonism, and, 
stepping before the bulky figure of Factor 
MacTavish, he exclaimed: 

“ Do you mean to call us deserters and 
thieves? You’re the head of this place and 
you can do as you want to about giving us a 
place to stay, but you can’t call us thieves and 
deserters. I want you to understand I’m a 
gentleman, and I won’t be spoken to in this 
way by one like you.” 

With this outbreak Paul’s lips began to 
tremble, and he was at the point of tears. 
Factor MacTavish was taken wholly by sur¬ 
prise. He was accustomed to browbeat and 
insult the natives and people under him, and 
none ever ventured a retort. Here was a 
different type of person. He had expected 
a cringing appeal to follow his cruel charge. 
But instead this youth, placing honor and 
good name above any consideration of per¬ 
sonal comfort and safety, boldly defied him. 
Here certainly was a youth of spirit and of 
courage, and he admired the characteristics. 

[180] 



You are a big coward ” 









































































MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 

The big man looked down at Paul in silent, 
amused astonishment This attitude angered 
Paul almost beyond restraint. His eyes 
flashed, he doubled his fists, and swallowing 
his emotion, blurted out: 

“I feel like striking you! You’re a big 
coward to speak to two boys that way! ” 

Dan had until now kept silent. Paul’s 
speech quite dumbfounded him for a moment, 
but quickly aware that his friend was thor¬ 
oughly in earnest in the threat, and fearing 
that he would actually attack the big man, he 
grabbed Paul’s arm and drew him back. 

“ Do n’t strike un, Paul! Do n’t strike un! ” 
Dan exclaimed. “ ’T will do no good. He 
knows what he says ain’t true, an’ we know it 
ain’t true. Dad says when a feller knows he’s 
right, an’ he knows th’ Lord knows he’s right, 
it don’t matter what folks says or thinks.” 

Factor MacTavish laughed, and in the 
laugh was a note of good humor. The defi¬ 
ance of these two lads scarcely reaching to his 
shoulder amused him, and he could not but 
admire the display of courage in the face of 
odds. 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Well, you Ve got some spunk, and I like 
spunk. You may stay over night. It’s snow¬ 
ing, and you’d better go to the men’s house 
for tonight. We always put up travelers one 
night. James,” to one of the clerks, “ show 
them the men’s house.” 

“ We won’t stay a single night unless you 
take back what you said about our being 
thieves and deserters,” broke in Paul, his de¬ 
fiant attitude unabated. “ We ’re honest, and 
we ’re not beggars crawling after you.” 

“ I do n’t know whether you ’re honest or 
not, or anything about you. You may be what 
you say you are. Now, if you want to accept 
a night’s lodging, it’s open to you, and I ’ll 
talk to you tomorrow. James, show these 
boys to the men’s house.” 

“ You say you were wrong in calling us 
thieves?” insisted Paul. 

“ Perhaps I was. We won’t talk about it 
now,” and he turned to one of the desks to put 
an end to the discussion. 

“ We ’ll take that for an apology,” said 
Paul, somewhat mollified. “ Thank you.” 

James, the clerk, introduced them to the 
[182] 


MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 


men’s house, and presently they had their 
things under cover, secure from the now 
heavily falling snow, and ate their supper of 
cold roast lynx from their own larder, supple¬ 
mented by a pot of hot tea generously donated 
by the half-breed Indian cook. 


CHAPTER XIII 

WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 

“pAUL,” said Dan, after the half-breed 
cook who brought them the tea had re¬ 
turned to his preparation of supper, “ you ’re 
wonderful brave. I’m thinkin’ now you 
would have hit th’ master if I had n’t been 
interferin’.” 

“ I’m afraid I would, and then he’d have 
pitched us both out,” admitted Paul. “ It 
was n’t because I was brave, though, but I was 
mad all through when he called us thieves. 
Think of it!” 

“ ’T were brave o’ you. I’m thinkin’ you’d 
fight anything if’t were called for. But when 
we gets on th’ ice pan, first off, I were mis¬ 
judgin’ you; you seemed scared and I were 
thinkin’ you timid. You ’re a rare lot braver ’n 
me.” 

“ No, I’m not, Dan.” 

“ Yes you is. See th’ way you fit th’ lynx, 
[184] 


WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 


an’ killed un, too. An’ th’ way you stands up 
t’ that man is sure wonderful.” 

“ I had to fight the lynx; it made me. And 
that man’s a big coward. What do you sup¬ 
pose he’s going to do with us? Turn us out 
in the snow to starve or freeze to death? I 
feel as though I’d like to punch him now! ” 
And Paul clenched his fists. “ Called us 
thieves! Why, Dan, I never had any reason 
to steal, and you would n’t take a pin that 
did n’t belong to you.” 

“ Neither of us would steal, an’ I’m think- 
in’ he knows un well enough.” 

“ What shall we do if he turns us out? ” 

“ ’T is hard t’ say. I’m thinkin’ we ’ll be 
goin’ back in th’ bush, an’ stop t’ hunt when 
we finds a good place.” 

The wind had risen to a tempest, and it 
shrieked and howled around the building now 
in a way that made the boys appreciate the 
snug warmth of the shelter, and led Dan to 
remark: 

“ We needs clothes. We ’ll be sure freezin’ 
t’ death without un, an’ th’ cold weather 
cornin’ on.” 

[185] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Somewhere outside a bell clanged several 
strokes. Presently the door opened, and three 
men, shaking snow from their caps and stamp¬ 
ing it from their feet, entered. 

“ ’T is a wild nicht,” said one, a big, grizzly 
bearded fellow, after they had formally 
greeted Paul and Dan. “Ye arrived just in 
time, laddies. Are ye up from York Fac¬ 
tory? ” 

“ No,” answered Paul, “ we came from the 
north.” 

“ And how, now, could that be? The ship’s 
away this lang time.” 

Paul explained briefly how they had gone 
adrift, and their subsequent adventures, up to 
the time of meeting Factor MacTavish. 

“ My name,” he added, “ is Paul Dens- 
more, and my friend is Dan Rudd.” 

“ I’m glad t’ meet ye lads. My name is 
Tammas Ferguson, and this is Sam’l Hogart, 
and this Amos Tupper,” introducing his com¬ 
panions. 

During this conversation and ceremony the 
men were washing and preparing for supper, 
and as they sat down Amos invited: 

[186] 


WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 


“ Set in to the tyble, and ’ave a bite to heat.” 

“ Thank you, we Ve eaten,” answered Paul. 

“ Coom, laddies, and have a bite mair,” 
urged Tammas. “ ’T will do ye no harm this 
cowld nicht.” 

Chuck, the half-breed cook, at this juncture 
placed a plate piled high with bread upon the 
table, and this offered a temptation too great 
to resist. They were longing for bread above 
all things in the world, and with a “ Thank 
you ” they took the seats assigned them with¬ 
out further objection. 

“ Ye ’ll be bidin’ wi’ us the winter, and ye 
must no be backward,” encouraged Tammas. 

They were not in the least backward. They 
ate a great deal of Chuck’s indifferent, soggy 
bread, sopped in black molasses, and thought 
it delicious, and each drank at least three cups 
of strong tea. 

“ And did ye see the master? ” asked Tam¬ 
mas when supper was over and all were seated 
about the hot stove. 

“ Yes,” answered Paul, “ and he told us we 
could stay only tonight.” 

“ Did he say that now? ” 

[187] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ ’E needs men. ’E’s short’anded, and ’e 
needs more men,” broke in Amos. “ Tomor¬ 
row ’e ’ll be hengaging you.” 

“ There’s no doot o’ that. So do n’t worry, 
lads, aboot the morrow,” encouraged Tammas. 

The men filled their pipes with tobacco cut 
from black plugs, and chatted with each other 
and the boys, whom they drew hospitably into 
their group. Dan played several airs upon 
his harmonica, to their great delight, and Paul 
described the wonders of New York, which 
Amos always endeavored to discount with de¬ 
scriptions of what he considered the greater 
wonders of London. 

When bedtime finally came, Tammas 
stepped out of doors for “ a look at the 
weather.” 

“ ’T is an awfu’ nicht,” he announced upon 
his return. “ ’T is fortunate you lads made 
post as ye did. Ye’d ha’ perished in the 
cowld and snow of this nicht.” 

Paul and Dan spread their blankets on the 
floor, and very thankful they were for the 
shelter. Outside the wind howled dismally, 
and dashed the snow against the windows. 

[188] 


WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 

Morning brought no abatement of the 
storm. If possible the snow fell more thickly 
and the wind blew more fiercely. The office 
building, ten yards from the door of the men’s 
house, could scarcely be made out, and the 
boys rejoiced anew at their safety. 

Breakfast was eaten by lamplight. Tarn- 
mas insisted that the lads join in the meal, and 
when the bell clanged to call the men to work, 
he admonished: 

“ If the master is hard, and says ye canna’ 
remain, coom to me at the smithy. I ’ll ne’er 
be seein’ ye turned out in this awfu’ storm, 
an’ neither will Sam’l or Amos. If there’s 
no ither way, we ’ll pay for your keep.” 

“ Aye, that we will,” assented both Amos 
and Samuel. 

“ Thank you,” said Paul. “ If you do, my 
father will pay you back.” 

“ The master’s apt to be ’ard, but stand up 
to ’im. ’E likes men with grit to stand up 
and face ’im,” advised Amos, as the three went 
out to their work. 

“ Well, those are men with hearts, and true 
friends, and even if they are rough looking, 
[189] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


they ’re gentlemen,” remarked Paul, as the 
door closed. 

“ ’T ain’t clothes or money as makes a man,” 
said Dan. “ Dad says’t is th’ heart under th’ 
shirt.” 

They dreaded the meeting with David 
MacTavish, the factor, and for half an hour 
they hesitated to face the ordeal. 

11 But they ain’t no use puttin’ un off,” sug¬ 
gested Dan, finally, after they had discussed 
at some length the probable outcome of the 
coming interview. “ What we has t’ do, we 
has t’ do, an’ th’ sooner ’t is done th’ sooner 
’t is over. An’ you knows wonderful well, 
Paul, how t’ talk t’ he.” 

“ I’m not afraid of him,” declared Paul, 
working up his courage. “ Let’s go now and 
see if he’s in the office.” 

Factor MacTavish was in his office, busy 
with accounts, when they entered, but for full 
ten minutes he ignored their presence. 
Finally looking up he said, in a much pleas¬ 
anter tone than that of the previous evening: 

“ Come here, boys.” 

They stepped up to his desk. 

[190] 


WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 


“ How did you pass the night? ” he asked. 

“ Very comfortably, thank you,” answered 
Paul. 

“ I’ve been thinking about you fellows, and 
I Ve decided to let you remain at the post and 
work for your living. We ’re shorthanded, 
and it’s mighty lucky for you that we are, for 
we can’t keep hangers-on and idlers around 
here. You — what is your name? ” 

“ Paul Densmore.” 

“ You go over to the blacksmith’s shop, and 
help Thomas Ferguson, and do whatever he 
wants you to do. And you other fellow, 
what’s your name? ” 

“ Dan’l Rudd, sir.” 

“ You can help Amos Tupper in the cooper 
shop.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ When they have n’t anything for you to 
do, there’s plenty of wood to saw and split, 
and enough to keep you busy. Now get out.” 

Then Paul and Dan turned to go. 

“ Hold on! You ’ll stay in the men’s house 
with the others. Are those the only clothes 
you have? ” 

[191] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ All except some underclothes,” answered 
Paul. 

“ Well, they ’ll not be enough for winter. 
James,” to the chief clerk, “have adikeys 
made for these fellows, and some duffel socks 
and deerskin moccasins, and a pair of mittens 
for each. Now if you fellows prove your¬ 
selves useful you can stay here for the winter, 
and if you do n’t I ’ll kick you both out of the 
post. You may go.” 

It was an effort for Paul to restrain himself 
from making a defiant reply, but he realized 
in time that this might get them into trouble. 
He felt incensed that his word had not been 
taken, when he promised that his father would 
pay his own and Dan’s expenses. He was on 
the whole very glad, however, that even this 
arrangement had been made, for the storm 
had brought him a realization of the fruitless¬ 
ness of any attempt to live in the open with 
their insufficient equipment, together with the 
uncertainty of killing sufficient game to sus¬ 
tain them. 

And so Paul Densmore, the only son of a 
king of finance, a youth who would one day be 
[192] 


WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 


a multi-millionaire in his own right, was glad 
enough to earn his living as a common 
laborer. 


CHAPTER XIV 
A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


D AN had been accustomed to work and ex¬ 
posure all his life, and he found his new 
employment, on the whole, not disagreeable. 
Paul’s experiences after they had gone adrift 
had to some extent prepared him, also, for the 
tasks he was now called upon to perform, and 
at the end of a week he became fairly well 
reconciled to his position. 

Aside from giving them a curt order now 
and again, Factor MacTavish rarely spoke to 
either of them. He invariably treated them as 
ordinary menials — as he treated the unskilled 
half-breed servants — useful auxiliaries to the 
post life, just as the dogs were useful auxil¬ 
iaries, and save for the fact that he did not 
kick or beat them, he gave them little more 
consideration than he gave the dogs. 

In accordance with the factor’s instructions, 
James Benton, the chief clerk, or “ dark” as 
[194] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


he called himself, supplied each of them with 
two suits of heavy underwear; a kersey cloth 
adikey—an Eskimo garment which was 
pulled over the head like a shirt and was sup¬ 
plied with a hood — an outer adikey made 
like the other but of smooth cotton cloth, to 
shed the snow; three pairs of duffel socks 
made from heavy woolen cloth; a pair of 
deerskin moccasins made by an Indian 
woman; a pair of moleskin leggings; and 
warm mittens; and each was given a pair of 
bearspaw snowshoes, without which it would 
have been quite impossible to have walked in 
the deep snow. 

Each outfit, the clerk informed them, was 
valued at eighteen dollars, and each boy was 
charged with this amount on the company’s 
books. They were each to receive their board 
and three dollars a month wages, the three 
dollars not to be paid them in money but to 
be credited to their account until the debt of 
eighteen dollars was balanced. 

Though they had arrived in mid-October, 
and had begun work at once, Factor MacTav- 
ish argued that until they had become accus- 
[i95] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


tomed to the duties required of them they 
would be of little value, and therefore decreed 
that the munificent wage of three dollars a 
month should not begin until November. 
Therefore, they were told, they were virtually 
bound to the service of the company, with no 
freedom to leave the post, until the following 
May, when, if no other purchases were made 
in the meantime, their debt would be balanced 
and they would be free to go where they 
pleased. 

“ Now if you want the outfit, and want to 
stay, you ’ll have to agree to these terms in 
writing,” said the clerk. “ If you do n’t sign 
a written agreement you ’ll have to leave the 
reservation at once.” 

Thus they were forced to become the vic¬ 
tims of a system of peonage, for they had no 
choice but to sign the agreement. 

The lads felt the injustice of this treatment 
keenly. They were well aware that the value 
of their work would be many times greater 
than the amount of wages allowed them, but 
they were wholly at the mercy of the factor. 

“ It’s an outrage!” exclaimed Paul when 
[196] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 

he and Dan were alone. “ We earn a lot more 
than three dollars a month. Why Father used 
to allow me a hundred dollars a month for 
spending money.” 

“Yes,” said Dan, “we earns anyway ten 
dollars a month. He’s a wonderful hard 
man. But we ’ll have t’ put up with un, I’m 
thinkin’.” 

“ He’s got us here,” complained Paul, 
“ and he knows we can’t get away, and he’s 
going to make all he can out of us. The old 
skinflint! ” 

“ He’s sure a hard un,” admitted Dan, 
“ but we ’ll have t’ put up with un. Dad says 
that kind o’ man always gets what’s cornin’ 
to un some time, an’ what’s cornin’ to un 
ain’t what they likes, neither.” 

“ And he pretends he’s doing us a great 
favor! The old pirate! ” 

“ They’s no use thinkin’ about un. Dad 
says when th’ wind’s ag’in ye, do n’t get 
worked up about un, an’ cross. Take un cheer¬ 
ful, an’ be happy anyway, an’ she ’ll shift 
around fair after awhile.” 

So they gave no hint of discontent, but went 
[197] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


cheerfully about the tasks assigned them, as 
though they really enjoyed them, though 
much of the philosophy of Dan’s “ Dad ” had 
to be evoked at times when their spirits 
flagged, to drive back rising discontent. 

But they had enough to eat, and with their 
new clothing, supplemented by the things 
they already had, they were warmly enough 
clad, even when the short days of December 
came, with biting, bitter cold. 

The storm which overtook them on the 
evening of their arrival at Fort Reliance, con¬ 
tinued intermittently for several days. It was 
the first real storm of winter. Steadily the 
weather grew colder. By mid-November the 
bay was frozen solidly as far as eye could 
reach. 

The Indians, save two or three old men and 
women who did odd chores around the post, 
had packed their belongings on toboggans in 
the first lull in the storm, two days after the 
arrival of Paul and Dan, and the western wil¬ 
derness had swallowed them in its mysterious 
depths. 

Post life was exceedingly quiet and hum- 
[198], 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


drum, although it possessed something of 
spice and novelty for the lads, particularly 
Paul. The dogs always interested him when 
they were harnessed to the sledge by Jerry, 
the half-breed Eskimo servant, and he was 
always glad to be detailed to accompany Jerry 
and the team when they were engaged in haul¬ 
ing firewood from the near-by forest. The 
impetuosity and dash of the dogs upon leaving 
home, and Jerry’s management of them and 
the sledge, filled Paul with admiration. But 
Paul was especially fascinated by Jerry’s dex¬ 
terity in handling the long walrus hide whip, 
full thirty feet in length. With it Jerry 
could reach any lagging dog in the team with 
unerring aim. He could flick a spot no bigger 
than a dime with the tip of the lash, and he 
could crack the whip at will with reports like 
pistol shots. 

Under Jerry’s instruction Paul practiced 
the manipulation of the whip himself, at every 
opportunity, and he considered it quite an 
accomplishment when he was able to bring 
the lash forward and lay it out at full length 
in front of him. In his early attempts to do 
[199] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


this he generally wrapped it around his legs, 
and occasionally gave himself a stinging blow 
with the tip end in the back of his neck. But 
with patient practice he at length found that 
he could not only strike an object aimed at 
with considerable skill, but could crack the 
whip at nearly every attempt. 

Jerry was always good natured and in¬ 
dulgent. He taught Paul the knack of man¬ 
aging the dogs and sledge, and at length per¬ 
mitted him to drive the team upon level, easy 
stretches of trail. On steep down grades, how¬ 
ever, where the dogs dashed at top speed and 
the loaded sledge in its mad rush seemed ever 
on the point of turning over or smashing 
against a stump or rock, he had no desire to 
try his skill and strength. 

But these excursions with the dogs were 
practically the only adventures that came to 
the boys. Generally they were kept busy at 
the woodpile, one at either end of a cross-cut 
saw, cutting the long wood into stove lengths, 
and splitting it into proper size; or, when the 
weather was too stormy for out-of-door em¬ 
ployment, Paul assisted Tammas in the black- 
[200] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


smith shop while Dan was kept from idleness 
by Amos in the cooperage. 

Paul was always glad to be with Tammas, 
who had in a sense adopted both lads, and 
assumed a fatherly interest in their welfare. 
He was kindness itself, though he never failed 
to correct them when he deemed it necessary. 
Under his instruction Paul soon learned a 
great deal about the handling of tools and the 
working of iron. The greatest drudgery, it 
seemed to the boys, that fell to their lot was 
the weekly duty of cleaning the offices and 
scrubbing the unpainted furniture and floors 
to a whiteness satisfactory to the factor. 

The day before Christmas dawned bitterly 
cold. The snow creaked under foot. Every¬ 
thing was covered with frost rime. The at¬ 
mospheric moisture hung suspended in the air 
in minute frozen particles. When the sun 
reluctantly rose, it shone faintly through the 
gauzy veil of rime, and gave forth no warmth 
to the starved and frozen earth. 

Paul and Dan were assigned to the wood- 
pile for the day. All forenoon they sawed and 
split, working for the most part in silence, for 
[201] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


they were filled with thoughts of other Christ¬ 
mas eves, and the loved ones at home. 

“ I wonder if we ’ll have to work tomor¬ 
row? ” asked Paul, when they returned to the 
saw after dinner. 

“ I’m thinkin’ not,” answered Dan. “ Amos 
were sayin’ they keeps Christmas as a hol¬ 
iday.” 

“ If we do n’t have to, I want to get out in 
the bush, away from here, anywhere. I ’ll be 
homesick if I spend Christmas in this place. 
Can’t we go for a hunt back in the timber, 
and have a camp fire and a good time? ” 

“ ’T would be fine! ” agreed Dan. “ Now 
I were thinkin’ of just that myself. I’m 
wantin’ t’ get off somewheres wonderful bad. 
I’ve been a bit lonesome all day, thinkin’ of 
home an’ what they’s doin’ there, an’ whether 
they misses me.” 

Dan’s voice choked, and for the first time 
since their acquaintance began Paul saw tears 
in his eyes. Dan hastily brushed them away 
with his mittened hand, ashamed of giving 
way to his feelings, and continued more cheer¬ 
fully: 


[202] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


“ Mother’s like t’ worry a bit, but Dad 
won’t let she. Dad ’ll be tellin’ she we ’re all 
right. Dad ’ll not be fearin’ I can’t take care 
of myself.” 

“ I’ve been thinking about my father and 
mother too — and what they ’re doing, and 
whether they miss me much. We always have 
such a jolly time on Christmas. Mother gave 
me this watch last Christmas,” and Paul took 
his fine gold watch from his pocket, caressed 
it and returned it to its place again. “ It’s a 
nifty one,” he continued. “ Father gave me 
my pony — the black pony I told you about — 
4 Pluto ’ I call him. But Mother was always 
afraid he’d hurt me, and never let me go 
riding alone. Old John — he’s the groom — 
went with me, and he just kept me to a walk. 
There was n’t much fun in that and I soon 
got tired poking along and did n’t go out 
much. When I get home again, though, I’m 
going to have fun with Pluto, and Old John 
can stay at home.” 

“ Your father must be wonderful rich. I 
never did be a-horseback, but I has one o’ the 
smartest punts in Ragged Cove. Dad made 
[203] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


un an’ gives un t’ me. I’m thinkin’ I likes 
a punt better ’n a horse.” 

And so they talked on as they worked, until 
darkness came, and they left the woodpile to 
fill in the time until the bell called them to 
supper, giving Tammas and Amos a hand, 
Paul in the blacksmith shop, Dan in the 
cooperage. 

When at length the clanging bell called 
them from work, and they sat down to sup¬ 
per, Tammas announced: 

“ Weel, laddies, ye Ve earned the holiday 
ye ’ll have tomorrow. I’m not given to 
praisin’ mair than is a just due, but I may say 
fairly ye’ve weel earned the holiday.” 

“We’ll have the holiday, then?” asked 
Paul eagerly. “ Can we do as we want to? ” 

“ Aye, lad, ye may do as ye wishes. There’s 
t’ be na work on Christmas day.” 

“ Dan and I were wondering about it. 
We ’ll go hunting, I guess.” 

“We’ll be startin’ with daybreak,” said 
Dan. 

“Ye must na be missin’ the plum duff at 
dinner, laddies.” 


[204] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


“ We want to get away. It is too bad to 
have to miss plum duff, but I guess we ’ll 
have to let it slide, unless Chuck saves some 
for us.” 

“ Have na fear o’ that. I ’ll see he saves 
ye a full share. Go huntin’ if ye’ve set your 
hearts on goin’, laddies.” 

They were away at daybreak. The air was 
still and piercing cold, driving them to a smart 
trot to keep their blood in circulation. Dan 
was an old hand on snowshoes and Paul had 
already become so adept in their use that he 
jogged along and kept the pace set by Dan 
with little difficulty. 

They took with them their frying pan, their 
teakettle (a light aluminum pail) and two 
cups. Their provisions consisted of a small 
piece of fat pork, some bread, tea, salt and 
a bottle of black molasses — for here molasses 
was used to sweeten tea instead of sugar — 
which Chuck gave them for their dinner. 
Each carried a share of the equipment slung 
upon his back in one of their camp bags. 

Paul took his shotgun, Dan the axe and 
Paul’s rifle, for the cartridges for his own rifle 
[205] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

were nearly gone. They had no intention of 
making an extended hunting trip. Their chief 
object was a pleasant bivouac in the forest, 
where they could enjoy an open fire and free¬ 
dom from post restraints. 

First they made for the willows that lined 
the river bank two miles above the post. 
Tammas had told them they were certain to 
find large flocks of ptarmigans there, feeding 
upon the tender tops of the bushes. This 
proved to be the case, and without difficulty 
Paul secured a half dozen of the birds with 
his shotgun. 

Not far beyond they halted among the thick 
spruce trees, and made a rousing camp-fire. 
Then Dan with the axe built a lean-to facing 
the fire, while Paul broke spruce boughs with 
which to thatch it, and for their seat. 

These preparations completed, and the 
ptarmigans plucked, they lounged back upon 
the boughs under the shelter of the lean-to, 
to chat about their homes, their plans, and 
their home-going, until time to cook dinner. 

Two of the ptarmigans were fried with 
pork, and the bread was toasted, for variety, 
[206] 


A LONELY CHRISTMAS 


and it is safe to say that nowhere in the wide 
world was a banquet eaten that Christmas day 
with keener relish or greater enjoyment than 
this simple meal in that far-away spruce-clad 
wilderness. 

Dinner eaten and dishes washed, Dan piled 
fresh wood upon the fire, and the boys spread 
themselves luxuriously upon the boughs to 
bask in the warmth. Paul lay gazing into the 
blaze, quite lost in thought, while Dan played 
his harmonica. 

One of Dan’s favorite tunes was “ Over the 
Hills and Far Away.” Presently he struck 
up the air, and immediately a melodious tenor 
voice, singing to the accompaniment of Dan’s 
music, began: 

“ Tom he was a piper’s son, 

He learned to play when he was young; 

But all the tune that he could play, 

Was ‘ Over the hills and far away.’ ” 

The boys were startled. They had heard 
no one approach, and they sprang to their 
feet. 


[207] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Standing by the fire opposite them was a 
tall, lank man of middle age. In the hollow 
of his left arm a rifle rested. He was dressed 
as a trapper — a fur cap, buckskin capote, 
buckskin leggins, and moccasins. Beside him 
stood an Indian, similarly dressed and nearly 
as tall and lank as himself. 



The boys were startled. They had heard no one 

approach 





































































































































































































































CHAPTER XV 

THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 


fJpHE stranger laughed at the startled boys, 
who gazed at him and the Indian in mute 
surprise. Wrinkles at the corners of his gray- 
blue eyes indicated habitual good humor. The 
eyes themselves seemed always to smile, even 
when his lips did not. 

“ You were having such a good time/’ said 
he, in a rich, well-modulated voice, “ that I 
disliked to disturb you, but it has been so long 
since I saw a white face that I had to do it.” 

“ We ’re mighty glad you did,” answered 
Paul, who instinctively felt that in spite of 
his rough exterior and dress their visitor was 
well bred and cultured. “ Won’t you sit 
down? ” he continued. “ We ’re just out from 
the post enjoying the holiday.” 

“ Thank you, we will join you, and per¬ 
haps return to the post with you, if you do n’t 
mind.” He kicked off his snowshoes, stuck 
[209] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


them upright in the snow at the end of the 
lean-to, the Indian following his example. 
Then extending his hand to each of the boys 
he said, by way of introduction: 

“ My name is Charles Amesbury. I’m 
trapping back in the Indian Lake country. My 
friend here is Ahmik, though you will hear 
them call him John Buck at the post.” 

“ My name is Paul Densmore.” 

“ Mine’s Dan’l Rudd.” 

“ How do? ” said the Indian, following his 
companion’s example and shaking hands. 

“ You seem to be having a cozy time here,” 
remarked Amesbury, picking the ice from his 
beard as rapidly as the heat from the fire loos¬ 
ened it sufficiently. 

“ We ’re having a bully good day. We 
were getting homesick over at the post, and 
ran over for the holiday.” 

Dan had gone to the river for a kettle of 
water, and returning put it over the fire. 

“ We ’ll be boilin’ th’ kettle, an’ you ’ll have 
a snack o’ pa’tridge along with a cup o’ tea,” 
he suggested. 

“ Thank you. Do n’t mind if we do, 
[210] 


THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 


eh Ahmik? ” And Amesbury contentedly 
stretched his long legs, which seemed very 
much in the way. 

“ Ugh. Good,” remarked Ahmik, who was 
sitting on his heels. 

Four of the ptarmigans, as well as some of 
the pork and bread, remained, and while the 
water was heating Dan sliced pork in the fry¬ 
ing pan, while Paul dismembered the birds, 
ready for Dan to arrange them in the pan to 
fry when the pork grease began to bubble. 
Amesbury, lazily looking on, began to sing: 

“ Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, 
Cannot fly, cannot fly; 

Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, 
On Christmas day in the morning.” 

The boys laughed, and Paul remarked: 

“ They can’t fly very far. We clipped their 
wings on the way out.” 

“When did you come from New York, 
Densmore? ” 

“ Left there last July. How did you know 

I came from New York? ” 

[211] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ You have the accent, and a New Yorker 
handles his r’s pretty much as a Londoner 
handles his h’s; he tacks them on where they 
do n’t belong, and leaves them off where they 
do. I’m a New Yorker myself, though you’d 
never suspect it. I outgrew the accent long 
ago. I have n’t been there for — let me see — 
more than twenty years — how time flies! ” 

“From New York!” Paul’s face lighted 
up with pleasure. “ But I thought you said 
you were a trapper? ” 

“ So I am. I came to this country when I 
left home, twenty years ago, and I’ve been 
here ever since.” 

“ And never been home since! How could 
you stay away from home for twenty years? 
And New York too? It seems to me I’ve 
been away for ages, and it’s only half a year. 
You bet I ’ll go back the first chance.” 

Amesbury’s face became grave for an in¬ 
stant. 

“It’s too long a story — the story of my 
coming. I ’ll tell you about it, perhaps, some 
time when I’m not so hungry,” and he smiled. 
“ But how about you? What brought you? ” 
[212] 


THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 


He listened with manifest interest while 
Paul related the happenings of the weeks just 
past, and until Dan finally set the pan of fried 
ptarmigan between the visitors, interrupting 
with: 

“ Tea’s ready, sir. Help yourselves t’ th’ 
pa’tridges an’ bread.” 

And while Dan poured the tea and the two 
men stirred in molasses from the bottle, Ames- 
bury hummed irrelevantly: 

“ Heigh ding-a-ding, what shall I sing? 
How many holes has a skimmer? 

Four and twenty. I’m half starving I 
Mother, pray give me some dinner.” 

Then, as he took a piece of breast from the 
pan: 

“ Well, Densmore, the rest of the story. 
Do n’t mind the interruption. It was impor¬ 
tant. But so is your story. I’m immensely 
interested.” 

The story and dinner were finished to¬ 
gether. Amesbury made no comment at once, 
then while he cut tobacco from a black plug, 
and stuffed it into his pipe, he repeated: 
[213] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


u O, that I was where I would be, 
Then would I be where I am not! 

But where I am I must be, 

And where I would be I cannot. 

“ That reference is to you chaps. I would n’t 
be anywhere else if I could, and I would n’t 
have missed this good Christmas dinner and 
meeting you fellows right here for worlds.” 

Reaching for a hot coal he applied it to his 
pipe, and the pipe lighted he resumed his re¬ 
clining position, puffing quietly for a moment, 
when he remarked: 

“ Old Davy MacTavish is as hard as they 
make ’em. The company is all there is in the 
world for him that’s worth while. He’d cut 
a man’s soul out and throw it to the dogs, if 
the company would profit by his doing so. 
Thank God, the factors are n’t all like him.” 

“ Bad man,” remarked Ahmik, puffing at 
his pipe. 

Amesbury lapsed into silence, while he 
smoked and gazed at the fire, apparently in 
deep reflection. Presently, as though a bril¬ 
liant thought had occurred to him, he ex¬ 
claimed enthusiastically: 

[214] 


THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 

“ I have it! How would you chaps like 
to leave the post and go up Indian Lake way 
with me trapping for the winter? I go out 
to Winnipeg in the spring with my catch, and 
you might go along, if the wolves do n’t eat 
you up in the meantime, or you do n’t freeze 
to death.” 

“Could we? Could we go with you?” 
asked Paul excitedly. 

“ ’T would be wonderful fine! ” exclaimed 
Dan. 

“ No reason why you can’t. I’m up there 
all alone, and I need a couple of chaps like 
you to use for dumb-bells, or to kick around 
when I want exercise, or suffer from ennui.” 

“ We ’ll be wonderful glad o’ th’ chance t’ 
go with you,” said Dan, “ and t’ be doin’ 
things t’ help when you’s sick an’ sufferin’, 
but I’s not likin’ t’ be kicked, sir. Is ‘ownwe’ 
a bad ailment, sir? ” 

“ Pretty bad sometimes, but I ’ll try and 
control myself and not kick you very hard,” 
explained Amesbury, looking very grave 
about his lips but with eyes betraying merri¬ 
ment. 


[215] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Oh, Dan,” exclaimed Paul, laughing out¬ 
right, “ ennui is n’t a sickness. Mr. Ames- 
bury is just joking.” 

Dan did not understand the joke, but he 
smiled uncertainly, nevertheless. 

“ We ’ll hit the trail, then, the day after 
New Year’s. How’ll that suit you?” asked 
Amesbury. 

“ Can’t go too soon to suit us,” said Paul. 

“ Now Pm thinkin’,” suggested Dan, “ th’ 
master ’ll not be lettin’ us leave th’ post. I 
were so glad t’ be goin’ I forgets we has a debt 
an’ we signed papers t’ work un out, an’ he ’ll 
sure not let us go till we works un out.” 

“ That’s so,” admitted Paul in a tone of 
deep disappointment. 

“ How much did you say the debt amounted 
to? ” asked Amesbury. 

“ Eighteen dollars for each of us,” answered 
Paul, “ but we’ve been here working two 
months with wages, and that takes off six dol¬ 
lars from each debt, so the first of the month 
our debts ’ll each be down to twelve dollars.” 

“ Good arithmetic; worked it out right the 
first time,” Amesbury nodded in approval. 

[216] 


THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 

“ Now if you each pay the old pirate twelve 
dollars, how much will you owe him and how 
long can he hold you at the post? ” 

“ Why the debt would be squared and he 
could n’t keep us at all.” 

“ Right again.” 

“ But we has no money to pay un,” broke in 
Dan. 

“Just leave all that to me,” counseled Ames- 
bury. “ I ’ll attend to his case.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mr. Amesbury,” and Paul 
grasped the trapper’s hand. 

“ ’T is wonderful kind of you,” said Dan. 

“ Do n’t waste your words thanking me,” 
cautioned Amesbury. “Wait till I get you 
out in the bush. I ’ll get my money’s worth 
out of you chaps.” 

“ ‘ See-saw, Margery Daw, 

Johnnie shall have a new master; 

He shall have but a penny a day, 
Because he can’t work any faster.’ ” 

He stretched his long arms, yawned, un¬ 
tangled his ungainly legs from the knot into 
[217] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


which he had twisted them, and rose to his 
feet, remarking: 

“ Do you see where the sun is, fellows? It’s 
time to be going. You can lash these traps of 
yours on the top of my flat sled. Ahmik and 
I left our flat sleds just below here.” 

“My criky!” exclaimed Paul. “The 
sun’s setting. I did n’t realize it was so 
late.” 

In accordance with Amesbury’s suggestion 
all of their things, save their guns, were lashed 
on one of the long, narrow toboggans upon 
which he and Ahmik hauled their provisions 
and camp outfit, and the four turned toward 
the post, in single file, Paul and Dan highly 
elated with the prospect of presently turning 
homeward. 


&18] 


CHAPTER XVI 

RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


fjpAMMAS, Samuel, and Amos, who had 
spent the day caribou hunting, but had 
killed nothing, were gathered around the 
stove engaged in a heated argument as to 
whether a caribou would or would not charge 
a man when at close quarters, when Paul and 
Dan entered with the visitors. 

“ Weel! Weel! ” exclaimed Tammas, rising. 
“ If’t is no Charley Amesbury and John Buck 
wi’ the laddies! ” 

Amesbury and Ahmik were old visitors at 
the post. Every one knew them and gave 
them a most hearty welcome. Even Chuck, 
who was mixing biscuit for supper, wiped his 
dough-debaubed right hand upon his trousers, 
that he might offer it to the visitors, and Jerry, 
who lived with his family in a little nearby 
cabin, and had seen them pass, came over to 
greet them. 


[219] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Amesbury warned the lads to say nothing of 
their plan to the post folk. “ I ’ll break the 
news gently to Davy MacTavish when the 
time is ripe for it,” said he. “You fellows 
keep right at your work as though you were 
to stay here forever.” And therefore no men¬ 
tion was made of the arrangement to Tammas 
and the others. 

During the days that followed Amesbury 
and Ahmik made some purchases at the post 
shop, including the provisions necessary for 
the return journey to their trapping grounds. 
They had no debt here, and therefore bartered 
pelts to pay for their purchases. Their trad¬ 
ing completed, Amesbury produced two par¬ 
ticularly fine marten skins, and laid them 
upon the counter. “ I’ve got everything I 
need,” said he, “ but I don’t want to carry 
these back with me. How much ’ll you give? ” 

“Trade or cash?” asked MacTavish, ex¬ 
amining them critically. 

“Trade. Give me credit for ’em. I may 
want something more before I go.” 

“ Ten dollars each.” 

“Not this time. They’re prime, and 
[220] 


RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


they ’re worth forty dollars apiece in Winni¬ 
peg.” 

“ This is n’t Winnipeg.” 

“ Give them back. They’re light to pack, 
and I guess I ’ll take them to Winnipeg.” 

But MacTavish was gloating over them. 
They were glossy black, remarkably well 
furred, the flesh side clean and white. 

“ They are pretty fair martens,” he said 
finally, as though weighing the matter. “ I 
may do a little better; say fifteen dollars.” 

“ I ’ll take them to Winnipeg.” 

“ You can’t get Winnipeg prices here.” 

“ No, but I don’t have to sell them here. I 
thought if you’d give me half what they ’re 
worth I’d let you have them. You can keep 
them for twenty dollars each. Not a cent 
less.” 

“ Can’t do it, but I ’ll say as a special favor 
to you eighteen dollars.” 

“ Hand them back. I’m not an Indian.” 

“ You know I’d not give an Indian over 
five dollars.” 

11 1 know that, but I don’t ask for a debt. 

[221] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

You see I’m pretty free to do as I please. 
Hand ’em back.” 

But the pelts were too good for MacTavish 
to let pass him, and after a show of hesitancy 
he placed them upon the shelf behind him, 
and said reluctantly: 

“ They ’re not worth it, but I ’ll allow you 
twenty dollars each for them. But it’s a very 
special favor.” 

“Needn’t if you don’t want them. I 
would n’t bankrupt the company for the 
world.” 

“ I ’ll take them.” 

The bargain concluded, Amesbury strolled 
away, humming: 

“ ‘ A diller, a dollar, 

A ten o’clock scholar, 

What makes you come so soon? 

You used to come at ten o’clock, 

But now you come at noon,’ ” 

and MacTavish glared after him. 

It was a busy week at the post. Day after 
day picturesque Indians came in, hauling 
[222] 


RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


long, narrow toboggans, pitching their tepees 
near by, and crowding the shop during day¬ 
light hours bartering away their early catch 
of pelts for necessary and unnecessary things. 

Paul and Dan kept steadily at their tasks. 
Amesbury made no further reference to the 
arrangement he had made with them until 
New Year’s eve, when he strolled over to the 
woodpile toward sundown, where they were 
hard at work, humming, as he watched them 
make the last cut in a stick of wood: 

“ ‘ If I’d as much money as I could spend, 

I never would cry 1 old chairs to mend, 
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; ’ 
I never would cry 1 old chairs to mend.’ ” 

When they laid down the saw to place an¬ 
other stick on the buck, he said: 

“ Never mind that. You chaps come along 
with me, and we ’ll pay our respects to Mr. 
MacTavish.” 

“ Oh, have you told him we were going? 
I was almost afraid you’d forgotten it! ” ex¬ 
claimed Paul exultantly. 

[223] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ Never a word. Reserved the entertain¬ 
ment for an audience, and you fellows are to 
be the audience. Come along; he’s in his 
office now,” and Amesbury strode toward the 
office, Paul and Dan expectantly following. 

MacTavish glanced up from his desk as 
they entered, and nodding to Amesbury, who 
had advanced to the center of the room, no¬ 
ticed Paul and Dan near the door. 

“ What are you fellows knocking off work 
at this time of day for? Get back to work, 
and if you want anything, come around after 
hours.” 

“ They Ve knocked off for good,” Ames¬ 
bury answered for them, his eyes reflecting 
amusement. “ They ’re going trapping with 
me up Indian Lake way. I’m sorry to de¬ 
prive you of them, but I guess I ’ll have to.” 

“What!” roared MacTavish, jumping to 
his feet. “ Are you inducing those boys to 
desert? What does this nonsense mean? ” 

“Yes, they’re going. Sorry you feel so 
badly at losing their society, but I don’t see 
any way out of it.” 


[224] 


RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


“Well, they’re not going.” MacTavish 
spoke more quietly, but with determination, 
glowering at Amesbury. “ They have a debt 
here and they will stay until it is worked out. 
They’ve signed articles to remain here until 
the debt is worked out, and I will hold them 
under the articles. You fellows go back to 
your work.” 

“ We ’re not going to work for you any 
more,” said Paul, his anger rising. “ Mr. 
Amesbury has told you we ’re going with him, 
and we are.” 

“ Go back to your work, I say, or I ’ll have 
you flogged!” MacTavish was now in a 
rage, and he made for the lads as though to 
strike them, only to find the ungainly figure 
of Amesbury in the way. 

“Tut! Tut! Big J ack Blunderbuss trying to 
strike the little Tiddledewinks! Fine display 
of courage! But not this time. No pugilis¬ 
tic encounters with any one but me while I’m 
around, and my hands have an awful itch to 
get busy.” 

“ None of your interference in the affairs 
of this post! ” bellowed MacTavish. “ You ’re 
[225] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


breeding mutiny here, and I’ve a mind to 
run you off the reservation.” 

“ Hey diddle diddle,” broke in Amesbury, 
who had not for a moment lost his temper, 
and who fairly oozed good humor. “ This 
is n’t seemly in a man in your position, Mac- 
Tavish. Now let’s be reasonable. Sit down 
and talk the matter over.” 

“ There’s nothing to talk over with you! ” 
shouted MacTavish, who nevertheless re¬ 
sumed his seat. 

“ Well, now, we ’ll see.” Amesbury drew 
a chair up, sat down in front of MacTavish, 
and leaning forward assumed a confidential 
attitude. “ In the first place,” he began, “ the 
lads owe a debt, you say, and you demand that 
it be paid.” 

“They can’t leave here until it is paid! 
They can’t leave anyhow!” still in a loud 
voice. 

“ No, no; of course not. That’s what we’ve 
got to talk about. I ’ll pay the debt. Now, 
how much is it? ” 

“ That won’t settle it. They both signed 
on here for at least six months, at three dollars 
[226] 


RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


a month, and they ’ve got to stay the six 
months.’’ 

“ Now you know, MacTavish, they are 
both minors and under the law they are not 
qualified to make such a contract with you. 
Even were they of age, there is n’t a court 
within the British Empire but would adjudge 
such a contract unconscionable, and throw it 
out upon the ground that it was signed under 
duress. You could n’t hire Indians to do the 
work these lads have done under twelve dol¬ 
lars a month. In all justice you owe them a 
balance, for they’ve more than worked out 
their debt.” 

“ I’m the court here, and I’m the judge, 
and I’m going to keep these fellows right 
here.” 

“Wrong in this case. There’s no law or 
court here except the law and the court of the 
strong arm. Now I’ve unanimously elected 
myself judge, jury and sheriff to deal with 
this matter. In these various capacities I’ve 
decided their debt is paid and they’re going 
with me. As their friend and your friend, 
however, I’ve suggested for the sake of good 
[227] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


feeling that they pay the balance you claim is 
due you under the void agreement, and I offer 
to make settlement in full now. I believe you 
claim twelve dollars due from each — twen¬ 
ty-four dollars in all?” 

It was plain that Amesbury had determined 
to carry out the plan detailed, with or with¬ 
out the factor’s consent, and finally MacTav- 
ish agreed to release Paul and Dan, and 
charge the twenty-four dollars which he 
claimed still due on their debt against the 
forty dollars credited to Amesbury for the 
two marten skins. He declared, however, 
that had he known Amesbury’s intention he 
would not have accepted a pelt from him, 
nor would he have sold Amesbury the provi¬ 
sions necessary to support him and the lads on 
their journey to Indian Lake. 

“You can never trade another shilling’s 
worth at this post,” announced MacTavish as 
the three turned to the door, “ not another 
shilling’s worth.” 

“ Now, now, MacTavish,” said Amesbury, 
smiling, “ you know better. I’ve a credit 
here that I ’ll come back to trade out, and 
[228] 


RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 


I ’ll have some nice pelts that you ’ll be glad 
enough to take from me.” 

“ Not a shilling’s worth,” repeated the 
factor, whose anger was not appeased when he 
heard Amesbury humming, as he passed out 
of the door: 

“ ‘ A diller, a dollar, a ten o’clock scholar, 
What made you come so soon? 

You used to come at ten o’clock, 

But now you come at noon.’ ” 

It was to be expected that MacTavish 
would refuse them shelter for the night, but 
he made no reference to it, probably because 
in his anger he forgot to do so, and the follow¬ 
ing morning, when his wrath had cooled, he 
astonished Paul and Dan when he met them 
with, for him, a very cheery greeting. 

On New Year’s morning Amesbury and 
Ahmik visited the Indian encampment, and 
with little difficulty secured from their Indian 
friends two light toboggans for Paul and Dan 
to use in the transportation of their equip¬ 


ment. 


[229] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


The day was spent in taking part in snow- 
shoe obstacle races, rifle matches, and many 
contests with the Indian visitors, and the even¬ 
ing in final preparations for departure. In 
early morning, before the bell called the post 
folk to their daily task, they passed out of the 
men’s house for the last time. Tammas, 
Amos and Samuel were sorry to lose their 
young friends and assistants, but glad of their 
good fortune. 

“ I ’ll be missin’ ye, laddies. God bless ye,” 
said Tammas. 

“ Aye, God bless ye,” repeated Samuel. 

“ Hi ’opes you ’ll ’ave a pleasant trip. 
Tyke care of yourselves,” was Amos’s hearty 
farewell. 

They turned their faces toward the vast 
dark wilderness to the westward, redolent 
with mystery and fresh adventure. Presently 
the flickering lights of the post, which a few 
weeks before they had hailed so joyously, were 
lost to view. 


[230] 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE SNOWSHOE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 


^jpHERE was yet no hint of dawn. Moon 
and stars shone cold and white out of a 
cold, steel-blue sky. The moisture of the 
frozen atmosphere, shimmering particles of 
frost, hung suspended in space. The snow 
crunched and creaked under their swiftly 
moving snowshoes. 

They traveled in single file, after the fash¬ 
ion of the woods. Amesbury led, then fol¬ 
lowed Ahmik, after him Paul, with Dan 
bringing up the rear. Each hauled a tobog¬ 
gan, and though Paul’s and Dan’s were much 
less heavily laden than Amesbury’s and 
Ahmik’s, the lads had difficulty in keeping 
pace with the long, swinging half-trot of the 
trapper and Indian. 

Presently they entered the spruce forest of 
a river valley, dead and cold, haunted by 
weird shadows, flitting ghostlike hither and 
[231] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

thither across ghastly white patches of moon¬ 
lit snow. Now and again a sharp report, like 
a pistol shot, startled them. It was the action 
of frost upon the trees, a sure indication of 
extremely low temperature. 

Dawn at length began to break — slowly 
— slowly—dispersing the grotesque and 
ghostlike shadows. As dawn melted into day, 
the real took the place of the unreal, and the 
frigid white wilderness that had engulfed 
them presented its true face to the adventur¬ 
ous travelers. 

Scarce a word was spoken as they trudged 
on. Amesbury and Ahmik kept the silence 
born of long life in the wilderness where men 
exist by pitting human skill against animal 
instinct, and learn from the wild creatures 
they stalk the lesson of necessary silence and 
acute listening. Dan, too, in his hunting ex¬ 
periences with his father, had learned to some 
degree the same lesson, and Paul had small 
inclination to talk, for he needed all his breath 
to hold the rapid pace. 

Rime had settled upon their clothing, and 
dawn revealed them white as the snow over 
[232] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

which they passed. The moisture from their 
eyes froze upon their eyelashes, and now and 
again it was found necessary to pick it off, 
painfully, as they walked. 

The sun was two hours high when Ames- 
bury and Ahmik suddenly halted, and when 
Paul and Dan, who had fallen considerably 
in the rear, overtook them, Ahmik was cutting 
wood, while Amesbury, lighting a fire, was 
singing: 

“ 1 Polly put the kettle on, 

Polly put the kettle on, 

Polly put the kettle on, 

And let’s drink tea.’ ” 

a How are you standing it, fellows?” he 
asked, looking up. 

“ Not bad, sir,” answered Dan. 

“ I’m about tuckered out, and as empty as 
a drum!” exclaimed Paul. 

“ Pretty hard pull for raw recruits,” said 
Amesbury, laughing. “ But wait till tomor¬ 
row! Cheer up! The worst is yet to come.” 

“ I hope it won’t be any harder than this,” 
and Paul sat wearily down upon his toboggan. 
[233] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ No,” encouraged Amesbury, “ better 
snowshoeing, if anything. But there’s the 
wear and tear. You ’ll have a hint of it to¬ 
night, and know all about it tomorrow.” 

“ I finds th’ snowshoein’ not so bad today,” 
said Dan, “ but I’m thinkin’ now I knows 
what you means. I had un bad last year when 
I goes out wi’ Dad. ’T were wonderful bad, 
too. I were findin’ it wonderful hard t’ walk 
with th’ stiffness all over me when I first 
starts in th’ mornin’, but th’ stiffness wears off 
after a bit, an’ I’m not mindin’ un after.” 

“That’s it. You’re on,” laughed Ames¬ 
bury, as he chipped some ice from a frozen 
brook to fill the kettle for tea. 

“Very hard, you find him,” broke in Ah- 
mik, joining in Amesbury’s laugh. “ You get 
use to him quick. Walk easy like Mr. Ames¬ 
bury and me soon. No hard when use to 
him.” 

Ahmik was growing more talkative upon 
acquaintance, and drawing out of the natural 
reticence of his race with strangers, as is the 
way of Indians when they learn to know and 
like one. 


[234] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

It was a hard afternoon for Paul, and he 
had to summon all his grit and fortitude to 
keep going without complaint until the night 
halt was finally made, but he did his share 
of the camp work, nevertheless, with a will, 
and when the tent was pitched and wood cut 
he sat down more weary than he had ever 
been in his life. 

Amesbury and Ahmik traveled in true In¬ 
dian fashion when Indians make flying trips 
without their families. They had neither 
tent nor tent stove to protect them. The ex¬ 
perienced woodsman can protect himself, even 
in sub-Arctic regions, from the severest storm 
and cold, so long as he has an axe. Some¬ 
times he resorts to temporary shelters, with 
fires, sometimes to burrows in snowdrifts, or 
to such other methods as the particular condi¬ 
tions which he has to face suggest or demand. 

Paul and Dan, however, had their tent, tent 
stove and other paraphernalia. The tent they 
pitched upon the snow, stretching it, by means 
of the ridge rope, between two convenient 
/trees. When it was finally in place Dan 
[235] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

banked snow well up upon all sides save the 
opening used for an entrance. 

While Dan was thus engaged Paul broke 
spruce boughs for a floor covering and bed, 
Ahmik cut wood for the stove, and Amesbury 
unpacked the outfit and set the stove in place 
upon two green log butts three feet long and 
six inches thick. This he did that the stove 
might not sink into the snow when a fire was 
lighted and the snow under the stove began 
to melt. 

The telescope pipe in place, Amesbury put 
a handful of birch bark in the stove, broke 
some small, dry twigs upon it, lighted the 
bark, as it blazed filled the stove with some of 
Ahmik’s neatly split wood, and in five minutes 
the interior of the tent was comfortably 
warm. 

Paul spread the tarpaulin upon the boughs 
which he had arranged, stowed their camp 
things neatly around the edge of the interior, 
and night camp was ready. Though rather 
crowded, the tent offered sufficient accommo¬ 
dation for the four. 

A candle was lighted, and Amesbury in- 
[236] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

stalled himself as cook. A kettle of ice was 
placed upon the stove to melt and boil for tea. 
A frying pan filled with thick slices of salt 
pork was presently sizzling on the stove. Then 
he added some salt and baking powder to a 
pan of flour, mixed them thoroughly, and 
poured enough water from the kettle of melt¬ 
ing ice to make a dough. 

The pork, which had now cooked suffi¬ 
ciently, was taken from the pan and placed 
upon a tin dish, and the dough, stretched into 
thin cakes large enough to fill the circumfer¬ 
ence of the pan, was fried, one at a time, in the 
bubbling pork grease that remained. In the 
meantime tea had been made. 

“All ready. Fall to,” announced Ames- 
bury. 

“ I feels I’m ready for un,” said Dan. 

“ I can eat two meals,” declared Paul. 

“ I’m interested to see what the day’s work 
did for you chaps. Now if you can’t eat, 
Ahmik and I will feel that we did n’t walk 
you fast enough today, and we ’ll have to do 
better tomorrow, eh, Ahmik?” Amesbury’s 
eyes twinkled with amusement. 

[237] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“Ugh! Big walk tomorrow. Very far. 
Very fast/’ and Ahmik grinned. 

“Goodness!” exclaimed Paul. “If we 
have to walk any farther or faster tomorrow 
than we did today, I ’ll just collapse. I’m so 
stiff now I can hardly move.” 

“ That’s always the case for a day or two 
when a fellow starts out for the first time on 
snowshoes and does a full day’s work. It 
won’t last long, but we ’ll take it a little slower 
tomorrow, to let you get hardened to it,” 
Amesbury consoled. 

When they stopped to boil the kettle the 
following day Paul was scarcely able to lift 
his feet from the snow. Sharp pains in the 
calves of his legs and in his hips and groins 
were excruciating, and he sat down upon his 
toboggan very thankful for the opportunity 
to rest. 

“ How is it? Pretty tired? ” asked Ames¬ 
bury, good-naturedly. 

“ A little stiff — and tired,” answered Paul, 
whose pride would not permit him to admit 
how hard it was for him to keep up. 

“ We ’ll take a little easier gait this after- 
[238] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

noon. I did n’t realize we were hitting it off 
so hard as we were this morning.” 

“ Thank you.” Paul wished to say “ Do n’t 
go slow on my account,” but he realized how 
utterly impossible it would be for him to keep 
the more rapid pace. 

When luncheon was disposed of and they 
again fell into line, the pain was so intense 
that he could scarcely restrain from crying 
out. But he kept going, and saying to him¬ 
self: 

“ I won’t be a quitter. I won't be a quit¬ 
ter.” He began to lag wofully, however, in 
spite of his determination and grit, and the 
slower pace which Amesbury had set. Thus 
they traveled silently on for nearly an hour, 
when all at once Amesbury stopped, held up 
his hand as a signal to the others to halt and 
remain quiet. Dropping his toboggan rope 
he stole stealthily forward and was quickly 
lost to view. 

Presently a rifle shot rang out, and imme¬ 
diately another. A moment later Amesbury 
strode back for his toboggan, where the others 
were awaiting him, humming as he came: 
[239] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ 1 His body will make a nice little stew, 
And his giblets will make me a little pie, 
too.’ ” 

“ Come along, fellows,” he called. “ Two 
caribou the reward of vigilance. We ’ll skin 
’em.” 

Just within the woods, at the edge of an 
open, wind-swept marsh, they left their tobog¬ 
gans, and a hundred yards beyond lay the 
carcasses of the two caribou Amesbury had 
killed. 

“ There was a band of a dozen,” he ex¬ 
plained, as they walked out to the game. “ I 
thought we could use about two of them very 
nicely.” 

“Good!” remarked Ahmik, drawing his 
knife to begin the process of skinning at once. 

“ I ’ll tell you what,” said Amesbury, “ un¬ 
less you chaps would like to help here, sup¬ 
pose you pitch the tent. We ’ll not go any 
farther today.” 

“ That’s bully! ” exclaimed Paul, who had 
been at the point of declaring his inability to 
walk another mile. 


[240] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

“ Everything’s bully,” declared Amesbury, 
“ and fresh meat just now is the bulliest thing 
could have come our way. All right, fellows; 
you get camp going. You’d find skinning 
pretty hard work in this weather, but Ahmik 
and I do n’t mind it.” 

“ My, but I’m glad we do n’t have to go 
any farther today,” said Paul when he and 
Dan returned to make camp. “ I’m just done 
for. I can hardly move my feet.” 

“ Does un pain much? ” asked Dan, sympa¬ 
thetically. 

“ You bet it does,” and Paul winced. 

“ Where is un hurtin’ most now? ” 

“ Here, and here,” indicating his hips, 
groins and calves. 

“ Lift un feet — higher.” 

“Oh! Ouch!” 

“ Why were n’t you sayin’ so, now? ’T is 
sure th’ snowshoe ailment, an’ not just stiff¬ 
ness. Mr. Amesbury’d not be goin’ on, an’ 
you havin’ that.” 

“ I thought it was just stiffness, and would 
wear off if I kept going. Besides, I did n’t 
want to be a baby and complain.” 

[241] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ ’T is no stiffness. ’T is th’ snowshoe ail¬ 
ment, an’ ’t would get worse, an’ no better, 
with travelin’. ’T is wonderful troublesome 
sometimes. Dad says if you gets un, stop 
an’ camp where you is, an’ bide there till she 
gets better. ’T is th’ only way there is, Dad 
says, t’ cure un.” 

“ I never heard of it before.” 

“Now I’ll be pitchin’ th’ tent, an’ you 
sits on th’ flat-sled an’ keeps still.” 

“ Oh, I’d freeze if I sat down. I’d rather 
help.” 

They had just got the tent up and a roaring 
fire in the stove when Amesbury and Ahmik 
came for toboggans upon which to haul the 
meat to camp. 

“ I’m thinkin’,” said Dan, “ we ’ll have t’ 
be bidin’ here a bit. Paul’s havin’ th’ snow- 
shoe ailment bad.” 

“ What’s the trouble, Paul? ” asked Ames¬ 
bury. 

Paul explained. 

“Why, you’re suffering from trial de 
raquet. Dan’s right; we must stay here till 
you ’re better — a day or two will fix that. 

[242] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 


Must n’t try to travel with mal de raquet. It ’9 
a mighty uncomfortable companion.” 

At the end of two days, however, Paul was 
in fairly good condition again, and the jour¬ 
ney was resumed without further interrup¬ 
tion, save twice they were compelled by storms 
to remain a day in camp. 

Two weeks had elapsed since leaving the 
post when finally, late one afternoon, Ames- 
bury shouted back to the lads: 

“ Come along, fellows. We ’re here at 
last.” 

Ahmik had stopped and was shoveling snow 
with one of his snowshoes from the door of 
a low log cabin, half covered with drifts. It 
was situated in the center of a small clearing 
among the fir trees which looked out upon the 
white frozen expanse of South Indian Lake. 

“ This is our castle,” Amesbury announced 
as Paul and Dan joined him. “ Here we ’re 
to live in luxurious comfort. That’s the 
southern extremity of Indian Lake. What do 
you think of it? ” 

“ ’T is a wonderful fine place t’ live in if 
th’ trappin’s good,” said Dan. 

[243] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ It looks mighty good to me. What a 
dandy place it must be in summer! ” Paul ex¬ 
claimed. 

Ahmik now had the door cleared and they 
entered. The cabin contained a single square 
room. At one side was a flat-topped sheet- 
iron stove, similar in design to the tent stove 
commonly in use in the north, but of consid¬ 
erably larger proportions and heavier ma¬ 
terial. Near it was a rough table, in the end 
opposite the door stood a rough-hewn bed¬ 
stead, the bed neatly made up with white 
spread and pillow cases. A shelf of well- 
thumbed books — the Bible, Shakespeare, 
Thomas a Kempis, Milton’s Paradise Lost, 
Bunyan’s Pilgrim's Progress, Wordsworth’s 
Poems, Robinson Crusoe, Mother Goose's 
Melodies, Aesop's Fables, David Copper- 
field, and some random novels and volumes 
of travel and adventure. On one end of 
a second table, evidently used as a writing 
desk, were neatly piled old magazines and 
newspapers, on the other end lay some sheet 
music and a violin, and in the center were 
writing materials. 


[244] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

The chairs, like all of the furniture, were 
doubtless the handiwork of Amesbury him¬ 
self. Everything in the room was spotlessly 
clean and in order. The setting sun sent a 
shaft of sunlight through a window, giving 
the room an air of brightness, and enhancing 
its atmosphere of homely comfort. 

When the fire which Amesbury lighted in 
the stove began to crackle, he asked: 

“Well, fellows, how do you like my den? 
Think you can be comfortable here for three 
or four months? ” 

“ ’T is grand, sir,” said Dan. 

“Mr. Amesbury, it’s splendid!” declared 
Paul. 

Both lads had been long enough from 
home, and had endured sufficient buffeting of 
the wilderness to measure by contrast with 
their recent experiences the attractions of 
Amesbury’s cabin, and it appealed to them as 
little short of luxurious. 

“ Not splendid, but good enough for a 
trapper. Hang up your things; you’ll find 
pegs. Make yourselves at home now. Sit 
down and rest up. Ahmik will take care of 
[245] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


the stuff outside,” and as Amesbury went 
about the preparation of supper he sang: 

“ ‘ There was an old woman, and what do you 
think? 

She lived upon nothing but victuals and 
drink: 

Victuals and drink were the chief of her 
diet; 

This tiresome old woman could never be 
quiet.’ ” 

Luscious caribou steaks were soon frying, 
biscuits were baking, and presently the deli¬ 
cious odor of coffee filled the room. 

“ I always keep coffee here,” explained 
Amesbury. “ Rather have it than tea, but it’s 
too bulky to carry when I’m hitting the trail.” 

“ It’s the first smell of coffee I’ve had 
since we left the ship, and oh, but it smells 
bully to me! ” said Paul. 

Candles were lighted, a snowy white cloth 
spread on the table. When at length they sat 
down to eat, Amesbury, with bowed head, 
asked grace. 


[246] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

“ ’T is good,” remarked Dan, accepting a 
liberal piece of caribou meat, “ t’ hear un say 
grace. Dad always says un.” 

“ I neglect it when I’m on the trail,” said 
Amesbury. “ My father was a preacher. He 
always said grace at home, and it’s second 
nature to me to do it when I sit at a table. 
Part of eating. We must n’t forget, you know, 
that we owe what we have to a higher Power, 
and we should n’t forget to give thanks.” 

“ That’s what Dad would be sayin’, now.” 
Dan had admired Amesbury before, but this 
comparison of him with his father was the 
highest compliment he could have paid him, 
and indicated the highest regard for his 
friend. 

“ I ’ll tell you, chaps, my theory of the way 
the Lord gives us our blessings. He gives us 
eyes and hands and feet, and best of all He 
gives us brains with which to reason things 
out. Then He provides the land with all its 
products, the birds and animals and forests. 
He gives us the sea with its products, too. 
He intends that we use our brains in devising 
methods of applying the products of earth and 
[247] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


sea to our needs, and to use our hands and feet 
and eyes to carry out what our brain tells us 
how to do. If I had n’t used my eyes and 
hands and feet the Lord never would have put 
this venison on the table.” 

“ That’s just what Dad says,” agreed Dan. 
“ He says they ain’t no use prayin’ for things 
when they’s a way t’ get un yourself.” 

“ Your dad’s right. If you chaps had just 
spent your time praying when you went adrift 
on that ice pan, you’d be at the bottom of 
Hudson Bay now. Yes, your dad’s right. 
Thank the Lord for the things that come your 
way, but get up and hustle first, or they won’t 
come your way. Use your brains and your 
hands. That’s the thing to do.” 

Supper finished, Amesbury and Ahmik cut 
tobacco from black plugs, filled their pipes; 
Amesbury whittled some long shavings from 
a stick of dry wood, lighted an end of a shav¬ 
ing by pushing it through the stove vent, and 
applied it to his pipe; Ahmik followed his 
example, and then turned his attention to 
washing dishes. 

Puffing contentedly at his pipe, Amesbury 
[248] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

lifted the violin from its case, settled himself 
before the stove and began tuning the instru¬ 
ment. 

“ I likes t’ hear fiddlin’ wonderful well,” 
remarked Dan. 

“ That’s good, for I’m going to fiddle. Do 
you like it, too, Densmore? ” 

“ I’m very fond of music.” 

“ Then, no one objecting, I ’ll begin.” 

Amesbury began playing very softly. Dan 
sat in open-mouthed wonder, eyes wide, and 
scarcely breathing. Paul was enthralled. It 
was a master hand that held the bow. The 
player himself seemed quite unconscious of 
his listeners and surroundings. The wrinkles 
smoothed out of the corners of his eyes, the 
alert twinkle left the eyes and a soft, dreamy 
expression came into them, as though they 
beheld some beautiful vision. He seemed 
transfigured as Paul looked at him. Another 
being had taken the place of the ungainly, 
rough-clad trapper. 

For a full hour he played. Then laying his 
violin across his knees sat silent for a little. 
The music had cast a spell upon them. Even 

[249] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

Ahmik, who had seated himself near the 
table, had let his pipe die out 

All at once the humorous wrinkles came 
again into the corners of Amesbury’s eyes, and 
the eyes began to sparkle and laugh. He arose 
and returned the violin to its case, humming 
as he did so: 

“ ‘ Hey diddle diddle, 

The cat and the fiddle.’ 

“ I always like a little music after supper,” 
he remarked, resuming his seat. 

“ Oh, ’t were more than music! ” exclaimed 
Dan. “ ’T were — ’twere — I’m thinkin’ — 
’t were like in heaven. ’T were n’t fiddlin’, sir. 
’T were music of angels in th’ fiddle, sir.” 

“ That’s the best compliment I ever re¬ 
ceived,” laughed Amesbury. 

“ Mr. Amesbury,” asked Paul, “ where did 
you ever learn to play like that? I heard 
Madagowski, the great Polish violinist that 
every one raved over last year. I thought it 
was great then, but after hearing you it seems 
just common.” 

[250] 


THE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 

“ You chaps will make me vain if you keep 
this up,” and Amesbury laughed again. 

“ But where did you learn? ” insisted Paul. 
“ And what ever made you turn trapper? ” 

Amesbury’s face grew suddenly grave, al¬ 
most agonized. 

“Oh, Mr. Amesbury!” Paul exclaimed, 
feeling instinctively that he had made a mis¬ 
take in urging the question. “ If I should n’t 
ask, do n’t tell me! I’m sorry.” 

“ It’s all right, Paul,” said Amesbury, 
quietly. “ I ’ll tell you the story. It may be 
well for you to hear it.” 


[251] 


CHAPTER XVIII 

STALKED BY WOLVES 


A MESBURY filled his pipe, lighted it 
from the stove with one of the shavings 
he had whittled, and sat silently contemplat¬ 
ing the streak of light which flashed through 
the stove vent. He seemed to Paul to have 
suddenly grown very old. His normally open, 
genial countenance was drawn and haggard, 
and Paul noted the streaks of gray in his 
brown hair and beard. 

“ It may do you good to hear the story,” 
Amesbury presently said. “ I Ve never told 
it to any one, but it’s a pretty good warning to 
young fellows like you. I like you, and I 
hope you ’ll not make the mistakes that I did.” 
He lapsed into silence again for a few mo¬ 
ments, and then began: 

“ As I told you, my father was a minister — 
the gentlest, most affectionate, sympathetic 
man I ever knew If there ever was a true 
[252] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


servant of God he was one. There was never 
a sweeter or more devoted woman ever lived 
than my mother. I believe her spirit comes 
now of nights to kiss my forehead as I fall 
asleep, just as she did in those long ago days 
when I was a boy at home. 

“ She was tireless. Nothing seemed ever 
too great a task for her. The women of my 
father’s church looked upon her in a way as 
their counselor, and they used to come to her 
with their troubles, as the men came to my 
father; and men and women were always cer¬ 
tain of both sympathetic and practical assist¬ 
ance. 

“ I had one sister, three years my senior, 
and we were chums and constant companions. 
We were both born with a passionate love of 
music, and when she was twelve and I nine 
years of age my father, with much stinting 
and scraping, purchased her a piano and me 
a violin. 

“ My violin instructor was an old German, 
who was to come to the Manse once a week to 
give me a lesson. He was a very impatient 
old fellow, but a good teacher, and with my 
[253] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


interest in music I made good progress. The 
pleasantest memories of my life are of even¬ 
ings when my mother sat sewing, and my 
father relaxed in his easy chair, while Helen 
played the piano and I accompanied her on 
the violin. 

“ My father designed me, I believe, from 
my birth, for the ministry. I was a good stu¬ 
dent, and at sixteen entered college. Here a 
new world opened to me. I had always lived 
in an atmosphere of religion. Perhaps I had 
become satiated with it. At any rate I took 
only too kindly to the wild life of the crowd I 
fell in with at college. 

“ For the most part the students were indus¬ 
trious, but there were a few, as there always 
are, who indulged themselves in dissipation 
because they thought it smart, and it was 
my misfortune to be drawn among these at 
the beginning. Perhaps the novelty, in strong 
contrast with my home life, attracted me. I 
do not know. 

“ At first our dissipations were of a rather 
mild sort, and I did pretty well during the 
freshman year. But during my sophomore 
[254] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


year I got in with a still wilder crowd, and 
took part in several discreditable escapades. 
Some of my companions drank, and early in 
the year I for the first time in my life tasted 
spirituous liquors. Before college closed for 
the summer vacation I had twice been mildly 
intoxicated. Of course my parents knew 
nothing of this, but they did know that I had 
neglected my studies and was conditioned in 
Greek, barely passing the test in other sub¬ 
jects. 

“ The escapades of the sophomore year be¬ 
came orgies in the junior. I drank hard at 
these times, and the liquor made me wild. 
I ’ll not tell you of the carousings I took part 
in, nor the reprimands I received for class 
and other delinquencies. It came to a climax 
in early spring when I entered a class one day 
in an intoxicated condition, insulted the pro¬ 
fessor, and did some damage to the furniture. 

“ This ended in my dismissal from college. 
A full report of what had occurred preceded 
me home, and for the first time my parents 
learned of my debauchery. It was a terrible 
shock to them. I shall never forget their 

[255] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


grief. If they had scolded or meted punish¬ 
ment it would have been different, but they 
did not. My mother threw her arms around 
my neck and cried as though her heart would 
break. My father, tears streaming down his 
cheeks, placed his hand upon my shoulder 
and called me his poor erring son. I prom¬ 
ised them that I would reform. Helen talked 
with me and cried with me in private. 

“ My father’s life hope that I should fol¬ 
low his footsteps in the ministry was crushed, 
and he had forever lost his former habitual 
cheerfulness. The change in him — I always 
felt it when in his presence — hurt me ter¬ 
ribly. I resolved to atone, so far as possible, 
for the past. 

“ I took up my old home life again. I at¬ 
tended meetings regularly, as my father 
wished, and devoted myself to my violin. My 
old German instructor was re-engaged, and I 
made such good progress that in the summer 
when I was twenty years of age he suggested 
that I go to Germany for a year, to continue 
my musical studies there. 

“ The prospect of a trip abroad filled me 
[256] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


with enthusiasm. At first my parents objected, 
and particularly my mother, who was now in 
ill health, the result, I shall always believe, of 
the shock she received at the time of my ex¬ 
pulsion from college. I plead so strongly, 
however, to be permitted to go, that at length 
both Father and Mother consented, and late 
in the summer I sailed. 

“ It was a mistake. There is much drinking 
among German students, and almost immedi¬ 
ately I was drawn among the wildest drinkers 
and roysterers. 

“ During the winter my sister married a 
prosperous and wealthy young business man. 
They decided upon a brief wedding trip 
abroad, and planning a pleasant surprise for 
me said nothing of it in their letters beyond 
the particulars of the wedding, for during my 
absence it was the custom of Father and Helen 
to write me twice a week minute details of the 
home life. 

“ I shall never forget the morning they 
came. I had been out all the previous night 
with a party of drinking students and had re¬ 
turned to my apartment in a state of such 

[257] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


beastly intoxication that I had thrown myself 
upon a couch, unable to undress and retire 
to my bed. Here I was sleeping when a loud 
knocking aroused me. Blear-eyed, unkempt, 
and smelling foul with liquor, I opened the 
door. There stood Helen and her husband. 

“ Their wedding trip was spoiled, of course. 
They decided to return home at once and take 
me with them. Helen made the excuse to our 
parents that I was in no physical condition to 
remain abroad longer. I think my father 
suspected something of the true cause, but he 
gave no hint of it, and I resumed my old life, 
but not with the same chastened feeling that I 
had experienced on the former occasion. I 
was becoming hardened. 

“ My father’s church and the manse where 
we lived were in upper New York, and to 
satisfy my desire for excitement I used fre¬ 
quently to take a run down town. It was on 
one of these occasions, a month after my re¬ 
turn from abroad, that I met one of my 
former college companions. He asked me to 
drink with him and I accepted. One drink 
led to another, and when the liquor went to 
[25B] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


our heads we became hilarious and decided to 
make a night of it. 

“ In the small hours of morning we were 
sitting at a table in a low cafe and dance hall. 
Some others were at the table — people I had 
never met — and one of them made a remark 
at which I took offense. What it was I do not 
know. I only know that before my com¬ 
panion or the others at the table knew what I 
was about, I was on my feet and smashing a 
chair over the offender’s head. 

“ I was arrested and locked up, and the fol¬ 
lowing day committed to the Tombs without 
bail to await the result of the injuries upon 
the man whom I had attacked. Then came 
remorse—awful, sincere remorse — for the 
life I had led and the hearts I had broken. 

“ My father, ever loving, ever sympathetic, 
came to console me. Again he called me his 
poor, erring boy, as he placed his arm around 
my shoulders, and tears, in spite of his effort 
to conceal them, wet his cheeks. 

“ I ’ll not go into detail, or describe the 
agonizing weeks that followed. The man re¬ 
covered. I was tried for my offense, and in 
[259] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


view of the fact that I had never before been 
called before a court of justice, was sentenced 
to but one year in the penitentiary. 

“ On the day sentence was pronounced my 
mother died; killed, of course, by her boy’s 
disgrace. When my father returned from the 
funeral he resigned his pastorate. He could 
no longer stand before his congregation, and 
the congregation did not wish to retain the 
services of a minister whose son was a jail 
bird. Six months later he followed my 
mother. All that he had loved and lived for 
had been taken from him. 

“ Well, I served my sentence, and when I 
was released I came here. I had but one 
thought — to hide myself from the world. I 
could not stay in New York and disgrace my 
sister and her husband with my presence. I 
was truly penitent, but I realized that the 
world would not believe that. My presence 
would ever bring up the past. 

“ Here in the open I have been drawn 
closer and closer to the God my father and 
mother loved and worshiped. Since that 
awful night I have never tasted liquor. I 
[260] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 

have tried to live in rectitude, and so far as I 
can to atone for the past. 

“ I have never written my sister, for I 
wished her to forget the disgrace. She never 
knew what became of me when I left prison. 
She probably thinks me dead, and I have had 
no means of hearing from her. 

“ My violin has been my constant com¬ 
panion. Every evening when I am here I 
play to Father and Mother and Helen. I 
always see them when I play. I always see 
the dear old living room at home, Father in 
his easy chair, Mother sewing, and Helen at 
her piano playing a soft accompaniment.” 

No one spoke for a long time. Then Ahmik 
rose and refilled the stove. Amesbury drew 
his ungainly frame together, strode to the 
door and stepped out. Presently he returned 
singing: 

“ ‘ Come, let’s to bed, 

Says Sleepy-head.’ 

“ It’s bedtime, fellows, and I know you ’re 
tired. I’d take one of you in with me, but 
my bed is pretty narrow, and I’m afraid you 
[261] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


would n’t be comfortable. Sleeping bags are 
pretty good, though. Paul, you have one al¬ 
ready. Here’s one for you, Dan,” and Ames- 
bury drew a warm sleeping bag from a chest. 
He was his whimsical, good-natured, normal 
self again. 

The following day was Sunday. Amesbury 
held religious services directly after break¬ 
fast. Then he played the violin for an hour, 
and they all sang some hymns, after which 
they chatted, cozily gathered around the 
stove, Paul and Dan luxuriating in the home¬ 
like atmosphere that was a part of the cabin. 

“ Tomorrow,” said Amesbury after dinner, 
“ Ahmik takes to his trapping trail, and we 
won’t see him again in a month. He goes west¬ 
ward. I ’ll be going, too, for awhile. My 
trail takes me south, along one side of a chain 
of lakes, and swings back along the other 
side. I ’ll be back in a week if the weather 
holds good. Takes me that long to make the 
rounds. You chaps make yourselves at home.” 

“ Can’t we go along and help you? ” asked 
Paul. “ It must be mighty tedious all alone.” 

“ No, not this trip. Perhaps I ’ll take one 
[262] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


of you at a time on later trips. I ’ll tell you 
what! You and Dan do a little trapping on 
your own account. There are a lot of traps 
out here in the woodroom. Dan knows how 
to set them. Put them anywhere it looks good 
to you. I expect you to earn your board and 
something more, you know. I told you that 
before you came. I ’ll give you a chance to 
work on shares. You can use my traps and 
I ’ll board you for half your hunt. How does 
that suit you? ” 

“ O, aye, ’twill be fine,” said Dan. “I 
were thinkin’, now, I’d like t’ do a bit o’ 
trappin’.” 

“ You might get a silver fox, and go home 
rich. Now think of that!” and Amesbury’s 
eyes twinkled. 

“ An’ is they silvers here? ” asked Dan. 

“ Sometimes. Silvers, reds, cross, whites 
and blues. You ’ll find martens in the timber. 
There are plenty of wolves, too — the big 
gray kind. You ’ll hear them howling nights.” 

“ An’ is they wolves, now? I’d like won¬ 
derful well t’ kill some wolves.” Dan’s eyes 
sparkled. 


[263] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“Not afraid of ’em, eh?” Amesbury 
laughed. 

“ They mostly keeps too far away. They’s 
cowards, wolves is.” 

“ Sometimes, but look out for packs.” 

“ Are there any bears? ” asked Paul. 

“ Bears? Yes, there are bears, but you won’t 
see any. They’re all in their dens and won’t 
come out till spring.” 

Long before dawn on Monday morning the 
boys were awakened from sound slumber by 
Amesbury singing, in full, melodious tones: 

“ ‘ Awake, arise, pull out your eyes, 

And hear what time of day; 

And when you have done, 

Pull out your tongue, 

And see what you can say.’ ” 

Amesbury was cooking breakfast by candle¬ 
light, and the room was filled with the odor 
of coffee and frying venison steak. Ahmik 
was getting his things ready, preparatory to 
leaving. The boys crawled drowsily from 
their sleeping bags. 


[264] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


“ Good morning, fellows,” called Ames- 
bury cheerily. “ Too bad to get you out so 
early, but Ahmik and I ’ll have to be going. 
Wash up; breakfast’s ready.” 

“ We ’ll miss you terribly,” said Paul. “ It’s 
going to be pretty lonely when you ’re gone.” 

“ It ’ll be good to know I’m missed,” Ames- 
bury laughed. Then more soberly: “ I tell 
you it’s good to have you chaps here. I ’ll 
look forward every day I’m gone to getting 
back. When I’m alone I never care much 
whether I’m here or somewhere else. But 
now I Ve the pleasant anticipation before me 
of coming home to a jolly good day or two 
each week with you fellows. Your coming 
here means a lot to me.” 

“ You ’re mighty good to say so. It was so 
splendid of you to bring us from the post!” 
declared Paul. 

“ You’ve got to earn your way, you know, 
and if you work hard you ’ll earn a little 
money besides.” 

With the first hint of gray dawn Amesbury 
and Ahmik donned their snowshoes, said 
adieu, and, each hauling his flat-sled, were 
[265] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


quickly swallowed by the black shadows of 
the forest. 

It was a marvelously beautiful day. The 
rising sun set the frost-clad trees and snow 
sparkling and scintillating, the atmosphere 
was clear and transparent, and it was alto¬ 
gether too entrancing out of doors for the lads 
to forego an excursion. They had become 
well inured to the severe cold, growing more 
intense with the lengthening January days, 
and shrank from it not at all. 

“ Let’s begin our trapping today,” Paul 
suggested. “ It’s just too great to stick in¬ 
side.” 

“ Now I were thinkin’ that,” said Dan. 
“ We might be settin’ some traps, an’ get our 
trails begun.” 

“All right; that’s bully!” Paul exclaimed 
enthusiastically. “ I never did any trapping, 
and I’d like to learn how.” 

They selected a dozen traps each, and cut 
some bits of venison to bait them with. Dan 
carried one of Amesbury’s axes and Paul’s 
shotgun, explaining: “We might be seein’ 
some birds, now,” but Paul, with his own light 
[266] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


axe and his share of traps, decided his rifle 
would be too heavy to carry. 

Half a mile from the cabin, in a creek 
valley, Dan stopped, and pointing to tracks 
in the snow, explained: 

“ Them’s marten tracks, an’ I’m thinkin’ 
we ’ll set a trap here.” 

He accordingly selected a spruce tree about 
four inches in diameter, cut it off four feet 
above the snow, and in the top of the stump 
made a V-shaped notch. He then trimmed all 
the branches, except the brush at the top, 
from the tree, and with the brush end lying in 
the snow, laid the butt end firmly in the notch 
cut in the top of the stump, with the butt pro¬ 
jecting, probably, four feet beyond the stump. 
With his axe he now split the butt of the tree, 
and prying it open inserted a piece of the ven¬ 
ison they had brought for bait. Just back of 
the bait, and on top of the tree trunk, he fast¬ 
ened and set a trap. 

“ There,” remarked Dan, “ I finds that a 
rare easy way t’ set marten traps, an’ a good 
un, too. Th’ marten walks up th’ tree t’ get 
th’ bait, an’ right in th’ trap.” 

[267] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ I can do that all right,” said Paul. 

“ Oh, yes, you can do un. ’T is easy, now 
you knows how. I’m thinkin’ you might be 
workin’ up this brook, an’ set th’ traps you 
has, an’ I cuts over t’ th’ west’ard an’ finds 
another place t’ set mine.” 

“ All right,” assented Paul, “ and then we ’ll 
each have our own traps to look after. It’s 
going to be great sport, Dan.” 

“ ’T will be fine t’ blaze trees high up where 
you sets traps, t’ mark th’ traps,” cautioned 
Dan. “ When you gets through now, do n’t 
be waitin’ for me. I ’ll make back t’ th’ 
cabin.” 

Accordingly they parted. Dan, turning to 
the right, disappeared, and Paul, passing up 
the valley, was presently deeply engrossed in 
his work. Once he fancied he heard some¬ 
thing behind him, but there was nothing to be 
seen when he turned to look, and concluding 
he had imagined it he dismissed it from his 
mind and continued his work. 

His last trap was set late in the afternoon, 
and, very hungry, he turned toward the cabin. 
A little way down the trail he again had the 
[268] 


STALKED BY WOLVES 


sensation that some creature was stealthily fol¬ 
lowing him, but still there was nothing visible. 
This feeling clung to him now, and presently 
made him so nervous that he increased his 
pace to a trot. 

He was still a full mile from the cabin 
when, again glancing behind, he discovered 
two great, skulking animals a hundred yards 
in his rear. “Husky dogs!” he said aloud, 
and felt momentary relief from his anxiety. 
Then like a flash he realized that they were 
not dogs at all, but big, savage gray wolves. 
A cold chill ran up Paul’s back. He had 
no arms save his axe. The wolves had stopped. 
They were sitting upon their haunches, eye¬ 
ing him hungrily. 


[269] 


CHAPTER XIX 

ON THE FUR TRAILS 


T)AUL and the wolves watched each other 
for a full minute. When Paul’s first 
terror left him somewhat, and when he re¬ 
membered what Dan had so often said: 
“ They ain’t no beast to be skeered of in this 
country,” and again: “ Wolves is big cowards 
unless they’s in packs,” he regained his self¬ 
composure somewhat. Here were two, to be 
sure, but two could hardly be designated as a 
pack. 

He also remembered that he had heard that 
a loud scream would sometimes frighten sav¬ 
age animals, and gathering his energies for it, 
he took a step toward the wolves, at the same 
instant opening his lungs in one wild, vocifer¬ 
ous yell. The wolves, however, were not to 
be frightened so easily. They sat with their 
tongues lolling, and if an animal’s counte¬ 
nance can display amused wonder, theirs cer¬ 
tainly did. 


[270] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


Paul, with a renewal of his fear, resumed 
his trail home. He wished to run, but Ames- 
bury had told a story of having been followed 
by three or four once, when he was unarmed, 
and had stated that the fact that he had not 
increased his pace, and had given the animals 
no evidence of fear, had prevented them from 
attacking him. “ An animal knows when 
you ’re frightened,” explained Amesbury. 
“ Let him feel that you ’re in fear of him, and 
he ’ll attack. If you ’re ever followed, keep 
an even, unhurried gait, and they ’ll be shy of 
you. But start to run and the beast will do the 
same, and overtake you every time.” 

So Paul kept as even a pace as he could 
maintain under the circumstances. Now and 
again he glanced back. The wolves were fol¬ 
lowing. For a little way they seemed not to 
be lessening the distance between him and 
them. At length, however, he discovered that 
they were coming closer and closer — very 
gradually, but still gaining upon him. Once 
or twice he stopped and they stopped, but 
when he started forward so did they. 

When Paul made the second halt he noted 
[271] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


with alarm that the wolves had shortened the 
distance between him and them, since he had 
first discovered them, by half. He knew then 
without a doubt that they had marked him for 
their prey. 

He had not yet reached the point where 
Dan had parted from him in the morning. It 
was all he could do to restrain himself from 
breaking into a run, but this he was satisfied 
would prove immediately fatal. 

At length the wolves were less than a hun¬ 
dred feet from his heels, and when he reached 
the branching of his own and Dan’s trails 
they were less than fifty feet away. He real¬ 
ized now that they were preparing for the 
attack. He could not hope to reach the cabin. 

He halted before a clump of thick willow 
brush that grew along the stream, and faced 
about. The wolves stopped, sat on their 
haunches as before, their red tongues hanging 
from their mouths. He could see the fierce 
gleam of their eyes now. 

He resolved to try again to frighten them, 
and again he gave a wild yell, stepping a pace 
toward them. They drew in their tongues 
[272] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


and snarled, showing their wicked fangs. He 
who has seen the snarl of a wolf will under¬ 
stand Paul’s sensations. There was no doubt 
now of their intentions. 

Paul was afraid to turn his back upon them. 
He felt the moment he did so they would 
spring. The cabin was still a half mile away. 
He waited, his axe grasped in both hands, pre¬ 
pared to strike. 

This position was held for ten minutes, 
though it seemed an hour to Paul. Presently 
the animals took to their feet, and gradually 
edged in, snarling now in savage malevolence. 
One at last made a spring. Paul saw the pre¬ 
paratory move, swung his axe with all his 
strength, caught the beast square on the head, 
and it fell lifeless at his feet. At the same 
instant a rifle shot rang out, and the other wolf 
rolled over, also dead. 

With the severe nervous strain and excite¬ 
ment ended, Paul nearly collapsed, but a 
shout from Dan brought him to his senses. 

“ Is you hurt, Paul? Is you hurt?” Dan 
asked as he came up, intense anxiety in his 
voice. 

D73] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ No,” answered Paul, putting on a bold 
face, “ but they did give me a run for it.” 

“ ’Twas a wonderful close call!” ex¬ 
claimed Dan. “ I were cornin’ t’ meet you 
when I hears you holler. I were leavin’ th’ 
gun in th’ cabin, an’ I has none, so I runs back 
an’ gets your rifle. ’T were n’t no common 
holler you gives, an’ I knows when I hears un 
things is amiss somehow, so I gets th’ rifle, 
an’ ’twere well I got un.” 

“ I thought for a minute it was all up with 
me, Dan. I ’ll never go out without a gun 
again.” 

“ No, ’t ain’t safe. They’s wonderful bold, 
when just two of un comes at you,” and Dan 
turned over with his foot the carcass of the 
wolf Paul had killed. “ I never heard of un 
doin’ that before. Paul, I were sayin’ t’ you 
once you was wonderful brave. You got a 
rare lot more grit than most folks.” 

“ Oh, I do n’t know,” said Paul, exceed¬ 
ingly proud of Dan’s praise, but modestly in¬ 
clined to deprecate his own prowess. “ I just 
had to do what I did, or they’d have got me.” 

“ Were un follerin’ far? ” 

[274] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


Paul explained in detail, as they returned to 
the cabin to get their toboggans upon which to 
haul in the carcasses, his afternoon’s adven¬ 
ture. When he had finished Dan said quietly 
and decisively: 

“ ’T were only th’ wonderful grit you has, 
Paul, as saved your life. If you’d run, now, 
or showed you was scared, they’d ha’ pulled 
you down quick.” 

“ Won’t my father be proud of that skin! ” 
exclaimed Paul when they had the skins 
stretched for drying. “ I ’ll have it mounted 
for a rug, and won’t it be a beaut! ” 

“ Both o’ un,” suggested Dan. “ They ’ll 
make a fine pair together.” 

“ But the other one is yours, Dan.” 

“ No, ’t ain’t.” 

“ Yes it is. You killed it and you’ve got 
to have it.” 

Dan objected still, but in the end Paul per¬ 
suaded him it was his. 

“ Dad ’ll be wonderful proud t’ see un,” 
admitted Dan. 

For two days a snowstorm, with high wind, 
swept the country, and Amesbury did not 
[275] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


appear on Saturday, but while the lads were 
eating a late breakfast on Sunday morning 
they heard him singing outside: 

“‘Yeow mustn’t sing a’ Sunday, 

Becaze it is a sin; 

But yeow may sing a’ Monday, 

Till Sunday cums agin.’ ” 

A moment later he came stamping in. 

“Home again!” he exclaimed breezily, 
“ and just in time for breakfast. How’ve you 
made it, fellows? Heigho! What’s this I 
see? Two wolf skins as sure as can be.” 

He examined them as he listened to the 
story of the adventure, and his face became 
grave. 

“ What would I have done now if I’d come 
home to find one of you chaps missing? If you 
want to save me remorse and heartaches, al¬ 
ways carry a gun when you go hunting.” 

The weeks that followed passed pleasantly 
for Paul and Dan, though there was much 
hard work and exposure connected with their 
work. They gradually extended their trails, 
[276] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


putting out more traps each day until they 
had, between them, four hundred and fifty 
set, leading out in several short trails from the 
cabin. All of them were visited twice a week. 

Amesbury’s weekly visit was looked for¬ 
ward to with keen anticipation, and he en¬ 
joyed it even more than the boys. Twice 
Ahmik surprised them. He came, laughing 
and good-natured, and on each occasion re¬ 
mained three days, a mark of his attachment 
to the lads. 

Each of the boys was once taken by Ames- 
bury over his trail, but as he plainly preferred 
that they remain to work their trails and to 
keep each other company, they refrained from 
suggesting a second trip with him. 

“ I’m always afraid that the one of you at 
home may go wolf-baiting again, or some¬ 
thing,” said he, “ and I feel better to know 
you ’re both here taking care of each other.” 

On a day late in March Amesbury came in 
from his trail with the announcement that he 
had struck up his traps for the season, and 
they would presently start for Winnipeg. This 
meant that at last they were to turn homeward, 
[277] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


and as much as they had enjoyed their winter 
they were overjoyed at the prospect. 

By prearrangement, Ahmik arrived simul¬ 
taneously with Amesbury, and all were to¬ 
gether in the cabin during the following week 
while pelts were made ready to carry to mar¬ 
ket, and the cabin made snug for Amesbury’s 
extended absence. 

Dan had succeeded in capturing thirty-two 
fine martens and Paul twenty-six. Utilizing 
the wolf and other carcasses for bait, they 
had also trapped five red, two cross, three blue 
and fourteen white foxes, setting the traps for 
the foxes in common. Dan declared he had 
caught twice as much fur during these few 
weeks as his father had ever had in a whole 
winter. “ And Dad’s a wonderful fine 
hunter, too,” said he, “ but they ain’t no such 
furrin’ where we lives as they is here.” 

One cold, clear morning they said good- 
by to the little cabin on Indian Lake, and, 
each hauling his toboggan, turned southward. 
Day after day they traveled, through forests, 
over frozen lakes, across wide barren expanses 
of snow. 


[278] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


All wore amber-colored glasses, which 
Amesbury provided, to protect their eyes 
from the glitter, for, he explained, were they 
to travel with naked eyes they would quickly 
be attacked by painful snowblindness. 

Now and again they were held prisoners in 
camp for a day or two, when severe storms 
visited the country. Occasionally they killed 
ptarmigans, spruce grouse, porcupines, or 
other small game, sufficient to keep them well 
supplied with provisions. 

They did not hurry, and April was well 
spent when they reached Moose Lake, where 
Amesbury had a small hunting cabin, and, 
under a cover built of logs, two Peterboro 
canoes and one birch canoe. The cabin itself 
was small and naked of furniture, save camp 
cooking utensils, a tent stove and a couple of 
three-legged stools. Bunks were built around 
two sides of the room, which also served as 
seats. 

“ This was my first camp,” explained 
Amesbury. “ I built it twenty years ago. 
There’s a Hudson Bay post down the lake, 
and in those days I did n’t want to wander 
[279] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


too far from a base of supplies. I come in here 
and do a little bear trapping after I leave 
Indian Lake, and every two or three years 
take a run down to Winnipeg in a canoe. I 
take some of my provisions in from here, and 
get some from your old friend Davy Mac- 
Tavish.” 

Here they went into camp, and before the 
ice in the lake broke up made a snowshoe trip 
to the post, where flour, sugar, pork and other 
necessities were purchased and hauled back 
on toboggans. 

This period of waiting was very tedious to 
the lads. The snow was becoming soft and 
wet, the woods were sloppy, and had less of 
attraction than in the crisp cold weather of 
midwinter. 

One night in May a heavy rain set in, and 
for a week it fell in a steady downpour. The 
snow became slush, and when the sun came 
out again, now warm and balmy, much of the 
ground was bare, and Moose Lake was nearly 
clear of ice. 

“ Now for the canoe and the homestretch,” 
announced Amesbury, upon looking out upon 
[280] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


the water and clear sky. “ Tomorrow we ’ll 
start. What do you fellows say to that? ” 

“ Bully! ” exclaimed Paul. “ I can hardly 
wait for the time when I ’ll get home.” 

“ ’T will be fine t’ be afloat ag’in,” said Dan, 
“ an’ I’m wantin’ wonderful bad t’ see Mother 
an’ Dad, an’ tell ’em about my cruise.” 

“ I thought you’d be ready to go. Big tales 
you chaps will have to tell of your adventures. 
I almost wish I were going with you,” and 
Amesbury looked wistfully down over the 
lake. 

“Why you are, aren’t you?” asked Paul. 

“Yes, as far as Winnipeg, to be sure. I 
want to see you chaps safe aboard the train. 
Could n’t take chances on your getting mixed 
up in any more trouble,” he laughed. 

“ Can’t you come on to New York with 
us?” asked Paul eagerly. “Oh, I wish you 
could.” 

“ New York is a long way off, and a rough 
old trapper like me would n’t know what to 
do in a big city like that.” 

“Yes, you would! I do wish you’d go 
home with me! ” 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Amesbury shook his head. 

“ No, I’m better of! here, and I would n’t 
do New York any good.” 

“ Now I’m wonderin’ how I ’ll be gettin’ 
home,” suggested Dan. “ I’ve been won¬ 
derin’ an’ wonderin’. I’m all out o’ my reck¬ 
onin’, goin’ different from th’ way I comes, 
an’ cruisin’ around.” 

“ Why,” explained Amesbury, “ you ’ll 
travel with Paul until he gets off and leaves 
you, and then you ’ll keep going on the train 
until the conductor puts you off, and you take 
another train. I ’ll tag you so you can’t go 
astray,” he added, laughing. 

“ No,” protested Paul, “ Dan’s going right 
through to New York with me, and my fa¬ 
ther ’ll see that he gets home all right.” 

“ That’s a good plan,” assented Amesbury. 
“ Then I won’t have to tag you, and you won’t 
get lost.” 

“ But I’m thinkin’,” said Dan, “ I ’ll be 
stoppin’ off t’ St. Johns, an’ not be goin’ on t’ 
New York. I’m wantin’ wonderful bad t’ 
get home.” 

“ You ’re going home with me first,” Paul 
[282] 


ON THE FUR TRAILS 


insisted. “ My father and mother have just 
got to see you. I want to tell them how you 
saved my life.” 

“Yes,” Amesbury laughed, “ I’m inclined 
to agree with Paul, and New York won’t take 
you so much out of your way. St. Johns is 
farther off than New York, and you can go 
on from New York by steamer, and perhaps 
get there just as soon.” 

“ I’m losin’ my bearin’s altogether,” de¬ 
clared Dan, looking much puzzled. 

Ahmik was to accompany them. A nine- 
teen-foot broad-beamed Peterboro canoe, 
with good carrying capacity, was selected for 
the journey. It was of ample size to accom¬ 
modate the four voyageurs, together with 
their traveling equipment, provisions for the 
journey, and the furs which they were taking 
to market to barter. 

The canoe was loaded at daybreak, and, 
Ahmik in the bow, Amesbury in the stern, 
with Paul and Dan between, they turned down 
the lake. A light mist lay over the waters, 
quickly to be dissolved by the rising sun. The 
weather was perfect, the air heavy with the 
[283] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


pungent odor of damp fir trees, the lake 
placid, beautiful, glorious. 

Through picturesque lakes, rushing rapids 
and gently flowing streams the expert canoe- 
men dexterously guided the frail craft. Now 
and again portages were made, but the outfit 
was light and these occasioned small delay. 

At length Lake Winnipeg was entered. 
Here they were forced to lose a day or two 
because of wind and rough water, but for the 
most part they were favored with pleasant 
weather. Twice they stopped at trading posts 
to renew their supplies, but with no other de¬ 
lays at length turned into Red River, and on 
a beautiful June morning beheld the spires 
of the city of Winnipeg rising before them. 


[284] 


CHAPTER XX 

WINNIPEG AT LAST 

“JLJURRAH! Hurrah!” shouted Paul. 

“ We ’re most home now. A hot bath in 
a real bath tub, and a real bed tonight, Dan! 
Think of it! A few days and we’ll be 
home! ” 

“ ’T is grand! ” exclaimed Dan, “ and oh! 
’t will be grand t’ get home! ” 

“ I ’ll wager,” broke in Amesbury, laugh¬ 
ing, “ that both you fellows will be pulling 
blankets off your beds and rolling upon the 
floor before morning, and I ’ll wager, too, that 
you ’ll be wishing you could get out to the 
back yard of the hotel to sleep on the ground.” 

Ahmik waved his hand toward the town. 

“ Good sell fur; no good to stay. No good 
place to live. Bush good place to live. We 
like have you come back to trap.” 

“ You’ve been mighty good to us, Ahmik, 
and we thank you,” said Paul. 

[285] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

They stored their things in a shop whose 
proprietor Amesbury knew, each carrying a 
back-load up from the river. 

“ Now,” suggested Amesbury, “ we ’ll go to 
the hotel and wash up. What do you say? ” 

“ I’d like to telegraph home first,” 
answered Paul 

“ All right. Glad you spoke of that. We ’ll 
wire from the hotel.” 

Ahmik had no interest in the proposed bath 
or in hotel accommodations, and with prom¬ 
ises to see him later, the three turned toward 
the center of town. 

“You chaps got any cash?” asked Ames¬ 
bury. 

“ Dead broke, both of us,” confessed Paul. 
“ Have n’t seen a cent of money since we left 
the ship.” 

“ I suspected it,” laughed Amesbury. 
“ Well, I happen to have a little. You ’ll be 
rich tonight when you get your share of the 
fur money.” 

At the telegraph office in the hotel the three 
put their heads together, and formulated the 
following telegram to Paul’s father: 

[286] 



The three put their heads together 




























































































































































































































































































WINNIPEG AT LAST 


“ Dan Rudd and I reached Winnipeg safely 
today. Leave tomorrow for home. Wire 
Captain Zachariah Bluntt, St. Johns. Love 
to you and Mother. Crazy to see you. Hope 
both are well. 

“ Paul Densmore.” 

“ Your father ’ll say that’s the best piece of 
literature he’s read this year,” remarked 
Amesbury. “ Here, operator, rush this off. 
Make it a ‘ rush ’ now.” 

“ What time ’ll he get it? ” asked Paul, as 
they turned from the telegraph desk. 

“ Let’s see. It’s eleven-thirty now. Oh, 
he ought to get it before he leaves his office 
this afternoon.” 

“ I’m so excited I can hardly keep from 
yelling!” Paul exclaimed. 

“ Well, you’d better hold in. They think 
you ’re an Indian now, from your looks, and 
they ’ll be sure of it if you yell, and fire us 
all. See how every one is eyeing us? ” 

“ When ’ll Skipper Bluntt be hearin’, 
now? ” asked Dan. 

“ Tonight. Paul’s father will wire him 
right away, I’m sure.” 

[287] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

a ’T is wonderful fine t’ be lettin’ un know 
so quick. Now I’m thinkin’ th’ skipper’ll 
get word t’ mother soon’s he can. Dad’s off 
t’ th’ Labrador by this, though, fishin’, an’ he 
won’t be hearin’ for a month.” 

The clerk at the desk greeted Amesbury as 
an old acquaintance, shook his hand, and 
handed him a pen to register. 

Following a luxurious wash came a thick, 
rare, juicy steak smothered in onions, an array 
of vegetables, a delicious salad, double por¬ 
tions of pudding and coffee, to which the party 
brought trapper appetites. 

“ Now for business,” said Amesbury, light¬ 
ing a fragrant cigar. “ We ’ll get a carriage 
and bring up our furs and see what they ’ll 
bring us. Then you chaps had better get some 
civilized toggery.” 

The afternoon was a busy one. Furs were 
commanding a good figure, and when the sales 
were made Paul found himself in possession 
of $470, and Dan received $560, as their share 
of the fur money. 

Amesbury then guided them to a clothing 
store where complete outfits, from hats to 
[288] 


WINNIPEG AT LAST 


shoes, were purchased for both. Paul insisted 
upon paying Dan’s bill for everything as well 
as his own. 

“ We ’ll fix that later,” he said. “ I ’ll pay 
the bills now, and when we get to New York, 
and find out how much the trip costs, we can 
have our settlement.” 

“ An’ you keeps th’ account,” assented Dan. 
Then they purchased their railway and sleep¬ 
ing car tickets for the following day, and 
returned to the hotel to bathe and don their 
new clothing. 

“ A telegram for one of the young gentle¬ 
men,” announced the clerk, as they entered 
the hotel and stopped at the desk for their 
keys. It was for Paul He refrained from 
opening it until they reached their rooms. 
Then with trembling hand he broke the seal 
and read: 

“ Thank God, my boy, you ’re safe. Mother 
and I leave at once to meet you in Toronto 
when your train arrives. Have wired Captain 
Bluntt. Bring Dan Rudd with you. 

“ Father.” 

[289] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Paul burst into tears, weeping from sheer 
joy. Dan, too, wiped his eyes. 

“ Good old Dad! ” Paul exclaimed at last. 
“ I can hardly wait to see them! ” 

Dan felt exceedingly uncomfortable in his 
new clothes. Even though he and Paul had 
selected suits at very moderate cost, and they 
were far from perfect in fit, he had never been 
so well dressed in his life. As he surveyed 
himself in the mirror, he confided to Paul: 

“ I feels wonderful fine dressed, an’ when I 
gets home an’ wears these clothes the folks at 
Ragged Cove ’ll sure be sayin’ I’m puttin’ on 
airs.” 

“ Oh, you ’ll soon get used to them,” 
laughed Paul. “ I feel kind of stuck up my¬ 
self, getting into civilized clothes again.” 

“ And, Paul,” continued Dan, “ I feels won¬ 
derful rich with all th’ money I’m gettin’. 
Dad and me hunted all of last winter, an’ all 
Dad gets for his catch is a hundred an’ twenty 
dollars in trade, an’ he thinks he does rare 
well. Now I been gettin’ five hundred an’ 
sixty in cash! ” 

“We did do pretty well, did n’t we, Dan? 

[290] 


WINNIPEG AT LAST 


And do you know, it’s the first money I ever 
earned in my life. I Ve always just loafed 
and let my father give me everything. It 
makes me ashamed now to think of the way 
I Ve wasted money I never earned. I ’ll never 
do so again.” 

Paul and Dan occupied a large room, with 
two beds, Amesbury a single room, and be¬ 
tween the two rooms was a bath room which 
they used in common, doors from the sleeping 
rooms opening into the bath room from op¬ 
posite sides. These doors were left open when 
they retired at night. All seemed unreal after 
the long camp life. 

The boys, weary with the day’s excitement, 
fell asleep the moment their heads touched 
the pillows. When they awoke the sun was 
streaming through the windows. Amesbury, 
taking his morning ablutions, was splashing 
in the bath-tub, and singing: 

“ 1 There was a fat man of Bombay, 

Who was smoking one sunshiny day; 
When a bird called a snipe, 

Few away with his pipe, 

Which vex’d the fat man of Bombay.’ ” 
[291] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

The lads sprang out of bed. “ My, but it’s 
late,” exclaimed Paul. “ The sun’s up.” 

“ ’T is that,” said Dan. “ I were n’t knowin’ 
just where I were when I wakes.” 

“ Good morning, fellows,” called Ames- 
bury from the bath room. “ Come along one 
of you; I’m through.” 

“Good morning!” they both called back. 

“Hurrah!” shouted Paul. “Today we 
start for home! ” 

“ And you ’re going to leave a mighty lonely 
fellow behind,” said Amesbury. “ I ’ll have 
to break myself in all over again. I’ve a 
notion I ’ll kidnap you both and take you back 
to the bush with me.” 

“Can’t you come with us?” plead Paul. 
“ Change your mind about it, and come. Your 
sister would give the world to see you again, 
I’m sure. We do want you. It will be a jolly 
trip if you come.” 

A shadow passed over Amesbury’s face, and 
left it again — as on the evening when he told 
them his life story — haggard, old, and as one 
suffering inexpressible pain. He was dressing 
now. He made no answer for several min- 
[292] 


WINNIPEG AT LAST 


utes, and seemed to be struggling with him¬ 
self. Finally he spoke: 

“ Thank you ever and ever so much, fel¬ 
lows. It’s better that I do not go. The world 
forgets good deeds quickly. It never forgets 
bad ones. Mine were bad. I was a jailbird 
once. No one who ever knew it will ever 
forget it. My appearance in New York would 
bring shame to my sister and her children, if 
she has any. God alone knows how I long to 
see them! The news of who and what I 
was would spread among their friends — 
even their new friends — and they would be 
shunned and made miserable because of me. 
No, it’s my punishment. I must not go.” 

Amesbury had again assumed his good- 
natured, whimsical attitude when they went 
below to breakfast, and chaffed and joked the 
boys as usual. 

Presently Ahmik appeared, to accompany 
them to the railway station. 

“ Come back hunt some more,” Ahmik 
invited, as the train rolled into the station. 
“ Miss you very much.” 

“ We owe you so much,” said Paul, as he 
[293] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


shook Amesbury’s hand. “ I do n’t know what 
we’d have done if you had n’t picked us up.” 

“ I ’ll never be forgettin’ you, an’ how rare 
kind you were,” declared Dan. 

“ You chaps owe me nothing,” insisted 
Amesbury. “ The debt’s all the other way. 
You earned your keep, made some money for 
me, and made a few weeks of my life very 
pleasant.” 

Paul and Dan ran to the platform of the 
rear car as the train drew out of the station, 
and had a last fleeting glimpse of Amesbury 
standing there gazing after them, a look of 
wistful longing in his eyes. 


[294] 


CHAPTER XXI 

BAD NEWS AND GOOD 

WHEN John Densmore returned home 
after meeting Remington, he broke the 
news of Paul’s supposed death to the boy’s 
mother as gently as he could. She sat dry-eyed 
and mute, staring at him during the recital 
as though not fully comprehending the pur¬ 
port of his words. Densmore drew her to him 
and kissed her forehead. 

“Mother! Mother!” he soothed, “bear 
up! It’s a dreadful calamity, but we shall 
have to bear it! ” 

She fainted in his arms, and for several 
weeks was very ill. Even when she was again 
able to be about she was constantly under the 
care of a physician, and trained nurses re¬ 
mained with her night and day. The shock 
had left her in a state of nervous melancholia. 

She had always deprecated Remington’s 
proclivities for hunting and out-of-door sports. 
[295] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


Now she felt very bitterly toward him, repeat¬ 
edly asserting that he was directly responsible 
for Paul’s loss, at the same time upbraiding 
herself unceasingly for having permitted Paul 
to take part in the expedition. 

Hour after hour she would sit, her hands 
folded in her lap, indulging her sorrow in si¬ 
lent brooding. She would picture Paul as he 
looked when he said his last farewell; her 
imagination would carry her to the desolate 
shores of Hudson Bay; she would see him 
struggling in icy waters; she would hear his 
last agonizing cry to her as he sank finally 
beneath the waves; and always his face cold in 
death, and his body unburied and uncared for, 
perhaps the prey of savage animals, rose up 
before her to reprove her for permitting him 
to leave her. These were the things she 
dreamed of, asleep and awake, and they were 
the only subjects of her conversation. 

Densmore was most devoted to his wife. 
He gave much of his time to her, and as the 
months passed more and more of the conduct 
of his vast business affairs was left in the hands 
of trained subordinates. 

[296] 


BAD NEWS AND GOOD 


During these months he had grown visibly 
older. Life had lost its charm. Much as he 
loved his son, he could have borne Paul’s loss 
with some degree of fortitude had his wife 
taken it less to heart, but the double sorrow of 
Paul’s loss and her condition of melancholia 
took from him at length the old vim and vigor 
that had won for him his high place in the 
business world, and he was forced to admit 
that he had “ lost his grip.” 

He was sitting in his sumptuously furnished 
office one June afternoon, his chin on his 
breast, deep in thought. A pile of important 
papers lay before him quite forgotten, though 
his secretary had placed them there an hour 
before, stating that they required his imme¬ 
diate personal attention. 

“ What is the use? ” he asked himself. 
“ Paul is gone. I’ve got a good deal more 
than we need. Mother [he always called Mrs. 
Densmore “ Mother ”] must have a change, or 
she ’ll never recover from the shock. Why 
not give it all up? Why not retire? Mother 
and I will take our yacht and float around the 
world and try to forget.” 

[297] 



THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

He looked at his watch at length. It was 
half past three. He pressed a button, and a 
boy appeared. 

“Tell Mr. Hadden I wish to see him,” he 
directed. 

At that moment Mr. Hadden, the secretary, 
evidently in a state of high excitement, entered 
briskly. 

“ Here’s a telegram-” he began. 

“ Attend to it, Hadden, I’m going-” 

“ Read it! Read it! ” exclaimed the secre¬ 
tary, holding the open telegram before Dens- 
more’s eyes. 

Densmore, who had risen to his feet, read it, 
and leaned back heavily against the desk. 
Then he caught the telegram eagerly from 
Hadden’s hand and read it again. 

“ Is it possible, Hadden? Is it possible? ” 
he asked excitedly. 

“Yes,” answered the secretary with assur¬ 
ance. “ I’ve studied the maps of that country 
ever since the boy’s disappearance. He’s 
worked his way down with natives to Winni¬ 
peg. I’m sure it’s straight! ” 

Densmore was quite alive now. His face 
[298] 



BAD NEWS AND GOOD 

was beaming, and his old-time energy had re¬ 
turned as by magic. 

“ Call Dr. Philpot on the telephone at 
once,” he commanded. “Take this wire and 
rush it off,” and he dictated the telegram 
which made Paul so happy. “ And this: 

“ ‘Captain Zachariah Bluntt, St. Johns, 
Newfoundland. 

“ ‘ My son and Dan Rudd are safe in Winni¬ 
peg. They are coming direct to New York. 
Advise Rudd’s parents. 

“‘John Densmore.’ 

“Call a taxi. ’Phone Remington!” 

The telephone bell on his desk tinkled and 
he grabbed the instrument. 

“ Hello! Dr. Philpot? This is Densmore. 
I’ve just received a wire from Paul. He’s 
safe in Winnipeg. Is it safe to tell Mrs. 
Densmore? ” 

A pause. 

“ Safe, you say? Just the sort of shock she 
needs to restore her? Good! Good! I’m 
going right home. Be there when I arrive. 
All right. Good-by. 

[299] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ Attend to these things on my desk, Had¬ 
den! I’m off to Toronto tonight! King 
Edward Hotel. Good-by.” 

And he rushed to the elevator, and from the 
elevator to the waiting taxicab, thrust a bill in 
the chauffeur’s hand and ordered: 

“ The fastest you ever ran.” 

All speed laws were broken in the flight 
that followed to the Densmore mansion 
on Riverside Drive. Policemen waved 
their arms and shouted warnings, pedestrians 
dodged, many narrow escapes from collisions 
were made by a hair’s breadth, but the chauf¬ 
feur knew his business, and Densmore could 
not ride fast enough. 

Dr. Philpot was waiting. 

“ Go right up, Densmore, and tell her. I ’ll 
follow presently,” he suggested. 

When Densmore entered his wife’s apart¬ 
ment a moment later, his face reflecting joy 
and excitement, she sprang to him, crying: 

“ Oh, John! John! What is it? ” 

“ Paul’s safe,” said he, wrapping her in his 
arms. “ He’s safe in Winnipeg, and on his 
way to us, Mother! ” 

[300] 


BAD NEWS AND GOOD 


“ Oh, is it true? Is it true?” she almost 
screamed, and began to weep and laugh 
hysterically as he repeated the telegram to her. 

Then with her head on his shoulder she 
wept quietly, deliciously, joyously, and the 
tears washed away the grief of months. 

“ Oh, Father,” she said at length, lifting a 
tear-stained but happy face to his, as she dried 
her eyes, “ it’s a miracle. But I can’t wait 
to see him — I just can’t!” 

“ Well, get ready, dear, to leave on the eight 
o’clock train this evening. We ’re to go to 
Toronto to meet him — if Dr. Philpot says 
you may.” 

Dr. Philpot, who had joined them to ob¬ 
serve his patient, said she might if one of the 
trained nurses went too. 

“ And,” added the doctor, “ I think I ’ll go 
with you.” 

An hour later Remington was announced. 
A load of anxiety and self-condemnation 
lifted from his shoulders, he, too, was in a state 
of happy excitement. 

“ Come along, Remington,” invited Dens- 
“ We ’re off to Toronto to meet Paul. 
[301] 


more. 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


You ’re one of the party,” and Remington 
accepted. 

The North Star was in dry dock in St. 
Johns, undergoing repairs, and Captain Zach- 
ariah Bluntt was enjoying a month ashore. 
He spent his days superintending repairs, and 
regularly at six o’clock each evening went 
home, ate supper, donned a pair of big carpet 
slippers, lighted his pipe, and settled himself 
for a comfortable hour reading the shipping 
news in The Chronicle. Mrs. Bluntt as reg¬ 
ularly joined him, with a lapful of things to 
mend, while the two Misses Bluntt cleared 
away the supper things and retired to the 
kitchen to wash the dishes before joining the 
sitting-room circle. 

The household was thus engaged one even¬ 
ing when the doorbell rang. One of the 
Misses Bluntt answered the ring, and a mo¬ 
ment later burst into the living room to 
disturb Captain Bluntt’s reading with the 
announcement: 

“ A telegram, Father.” 

“ Now I wonders what’s happened!” ex- 
[302] 


BAD NEWS AND GOOD 


claimed Mrs. Bluntt, for the receipt of a tele¬ 
gram was no ordinary occurrence in the rou¬ 
tine life of the household. 

“ We ’ll see! We’ll see!” said Captain 
Bluntt, and placing a finger under the flap of 
the envelope he tore it open, withdrew the 
telegram, carefully unfolded it and held it up 
at arm’s length to read. 

“ By the imps of the sea! By the imps of 
the sea! ” he exclaimed, springing to his feet. 
“ The two youngsters, Dan Rudd and the 
Densmore youngster! They ’re safe! Here it 
is! It says they ’re safe! Safe, I say! ” 

The family were in a state of high excite¬ 
ment at once. Mrs. Bluntt and the two Misses 
Bluntt surrounded the Captain, asking all to¬ 
gether, “Where are they? Let me see it. 
How did they get there? ” and a flood of other 
questions and exclamations. At length, the 
full meaning of the telegram digested, Captain 
Bluntt announced: 

“I’m goin’ t’ New York! The rascals! 
I’m goin’t’ New York on the first train! On 
the first train!” and grabbing his hat he 
started for the door. 

[303] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

“ But, Father, the train do n’t go till tomor¬ 
row evenin’,” informed one of his daughters. 

“ I know! I know! But I wants t’get Tom 
Hand. I ’ll send Tom Hand t’ Ragged Cove 
on th’ mail boat. Sails in th’ morning! Want 
Tom t’ take word t’ Dan’s folks! ” 

“ Well for goodness’ sake, Skipper, take off 
those slippers first and put on your shoes,” 
suggested Mrs. Bluntt. 

“ Yes, yes, to be sure! To be sure! And I ’ll 
write a letter for Tom to take. Yes, yes, he 
better have a letter! ” and Captain Bluntt im¬ 
patiently donned his shoes, wrote the letter 
and hurried away on his mission. 

Half an hour later the Captain returned. 

“ Now that’s fixed. That’s all right. Tom 
goes on the mail boat. Wanted to let ’em 
know. Make ’em feel good! Yes, make ’em 
feel good! Those rascals! Saved all this if 
they’d come back t’ the ship according t’ 
orders. Have t’ wring their necks! Yes, have 
t’ wring their necks when I gets hold of ’em. 
Pair of young rascals! ” 

The following evening Captain Bluntt, 
dressed in his Sunday clothes, his bushy red 
[304] 


BAD NEWS AND GOOD 


beard bristling importantly, boarded the train, 
bade good-by to Mrs. Bluntt and his two 
daughters, who had gone to see him off, and at 
six o’clock began an impatient flight to New 
York, and, in spite of his always-expressed dis¬ 
approval of railway travel, was undoubtedly 
the happiest passenger on the train. 


CHAPTER XXII 

HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 


'ITIT'HAT a journey of joyous anticipation, 
of wondrous realization, that was for 
the two lads! There was the home-coming in 
view, with all its plans; there was the present, 
a wholly novel experience for Dan, who had 
never before ridden upon a railway train, and 
it was little less enjoyed by Paul, who assumed 
the position of a traveler of experience, and 
directed their affairs between sleeper and din¬ 
ing car — they never failed to respond to the 
first call to meals, and they invariably aston¬ 
ished the waiters with the quantities of good 
things they consumed. 

Between meals they reclined luxuriously in 
their seats in the sleeping car, while they 
talked and planned, and enjoyed the fleeting 
vista of landscape. 

“ A train’s sure a strange craft,” remarked 
Dan one morning. “ She can beat a vessel 
[306] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 

for goin’, but for steady cruisin’, now, I’m 
thinkin’ I likes a vessel most. I’d like won¬ 
derful well t’ have a bit of a walk, but they 
ain’t no deck.” 

“ You ’ll have a chance to walk when we 
reach Toronto, and we ’ll be there pretty 
soon,” promised Paul. “ Father ’ll meet us 
there, and I do hope Mother will too. I’m 
crazy to see them. Do n’t it give you a dandy 
feeling to know how near home we are and 
getting nearer every minute! ” 

“ I’m wantin’ wonderful bad t’ get home 
too,” admitted Dan. “ How long ’ll it be 
takin’ me, now, from New York?” 

“ I do n’t know exactly, but three or four 
days, I guess. Why, Dan, this must be To¬ 
ronto now,” said Paul. “ The porter’s com¬ 
ing with his brush to clean us up.” 

It was Toronto, and the lads, in a state of 
suppressed excitement, were the first to leave 
the train. Densmore and Remington were in 
the front line of those awaiting arriving 
friends. They had left Mrs. Densmore in 
the motor car that had brought them from the 
hotel, but her impatience got the better of her, 
[307] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


and she came rushing down to join them and 
was the first to see Paul. 

“ Oh, my boy! ” she cried, as he ran to her 
open arms, and, laughing and crying, she 
hugged him to her quite unconscious of the 
gaping crowd. Then Densmore and Reming¬ 
ton greeted him and he introduced Dan to his 
father and mother. 

The motor car carried them to the King 
Edward Hotel, and in the privacy of their 
apartment Mrs. Densmore had to cry some 
more over Paul. 

“ How brown you are,” she said finally, 
holding him at arm’s length and looking at 
him admiringly, “ and how big and strong 
and healthy you look! I actually believe it’s 
done you good.” 

“ It has,” admitted Paul. “I’m a lot 
stronger than I used to be, and I’ve learned to 
do things, too. But I would n’t be here if it 
was n’t for Dan,” and he proceeded to tell 
briefly the story of their adventures, heaping 
upon Dan so much credit that the latter’s 
modesty forced him to interject stammering 
objections now and again. Mrs. Densmore 
[308] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 


was highly incensed at Factor MacTavish’s 
treatment of them, and the fact that Paul had 
actually been forced to work at manual labor 
for his living shocked her terribly, but 
brought a twinkle of downright satisfaction 
to Densmore’s eyes. 

It was a happy party that boarded the train 
that evening for New York. Dan was ex¬ 
ceedingly shy at first, but he was soon made to 
feel that he was one of them and presently 
felt quite at ease. Remington, entirely for¬ 
given by Mrs. Densmore, was jolly as he could 
be, and declared that Paul had far outstripped 
him as a sportsman, and when Paul and he 
went together again on an expedition, as they 
surely must, Paul would be the teacher and 
he the pupil. 

Densmore’s big touring car was waiting for 
them when the train drew into the Grand 
Central Station at eight o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing. Here Dr. Philpot bade them adieu as 
they sped away toward Riverside Drive. 

“ It’s great to be back in New York! ” de¬ 
clared Paul. “ Lots of times I wondered if 
I’d ever get home again.” 

[309] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

His mother pressed his hand but did not 
trust herself to speak. 

“ Here we are! That’s our house, Dan! ” 
said Paul gaily, as the car drew in behind a 
cab standing at the curb. A man, his back 
turned toward them, stood on the sidewalk 
engaged in a heated controversy with the cab¬ 
man. When the car stopped they heard him 
saying, in loud, gruff tones: 

“ You ’re a pirate, sir! Yes, sir, a pirate! 
You deserve to have your neck wrung! By 
the imps of the sea! You deserve to have your 
neck wrung! But here’s your money! Take 
it! Take it! Take it! Four times what the 
cruise were worth! Yes, four times! Get 
away with your old craft! Get away! ” 

“ ’T is the skipper! ’T is the skipper, 
sure! ” exclaimed Dan, highly excited. 

The two boys sprang from the car without 
ceremony and ran to Captain Bluntt, who, in¬ 
deed, it was, as he turned to survey his sur¬ 
roundings, his bushy red beard bristling in 
indignation. 

“ By the imps of the sea!” he exclaimed. 
“ ’T is the youngsters! ” He grasped a hand 
[310] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 

of each, the look of indignation in his face 
giving place to one of high pleasure. “ You 
rascals! You rascals! Is this two o’clock? 
Were n’t I telling you scamps t’ be aboard at 
two o’clock? Yes, two o’clock sharp! Two 
o’clock!” 

“ How’s Mother an’ Dad?” asked Dan 
anxiously. 

“Well. Very well, last I heard from un. 
Gone in mournin’ for you. Yes, you rascal! 
Gone in mournin’ for you! Hard blow, your 
death was to un! Hard blow! Yes, you ras¬ 
cal! How do, Mr. Remington? How do? 
Glad to see you! Happier times than when 
we sees each other last! ” 

“ Captain Bluntt, this is my mother and 
this is my father,” broke in Paul, introducing 
them. 

“ Glad to know you, Madam,” and the Cap¬ 
tain bowed low. “ Glad to know you, sir. 
Had to come on when I got your telegram! 
Had to see the young rascals! Had to see 
’em, and take Dan to his folks myself! ” 

“ It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, 
Captain Bluntt,” said Mrs. Densmore, ex- 
[311] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


tending her hand to him. “ Paul has been 
telling me a great deal of you since yesterday.” 

Densmore shook the Captain’s hand cor¬ 
dially. 

“ You ’ll have to remain with us a few days, 
Captain. Paul won’t part from Dan, you 
know, until he shows him something of the 
city! ” 

And as Captain Bluntt would not think of 
enduring a return journey by train, and he 
was compelled to wait three days for the St. 
Johns steamer, he accepted their hospitality. 
Every day during their stay was filled with 
sightseeing, with evenings at the theater, and 
a new world was opened for Dan. 

Paul declined to permit Dan to bear any 
part of the expense incurred after their arrival 
in Winnipeg, and Densmore supplied both 
Dan and Captain Bluntt with their trans¬ 
portation home, and upon Paul’s suggestion 
presented Dan with a new rifle and shotgun 
just like Paul’s. 

Finally, when sailing day arrived, Dens¬ 
more, Paul and Remington saw them off, and 
the lads parted regretfully. 

[312] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 

“ You ’re the best fellow I ever knew,” de¬ 
clared Paul, as they shook hands, “ and we ’ll 
always be chums.” 

“ An’ I hopes,” said Dan, “ we may be 
takin’ a cruise together again sometime.” 

The lines were thrown off, the active little 
tugs began puffing and sputtering, and slowly 
the steamer drew away from her wharf, Paul 
and Dan waving their caps as long as they 
could see each other. 

Paul and his father were together a good 
deal in the days that followed. Densmore 
would frequently take an afternoon off, and 
together they would go to the Polo grounds, 
and father and son would yell and cheer to¬ 
gether. Densmore had suddenly developed 
into a full-fledged baseball fan, and taught 
Paul his first appreciation of the game. They 
had long walks in the park these summer 
evenings, and discussed many things dear to 
a boy’s heart. They became, in fact, insepar¬ 
able chums. 

“ Father,” said Paul one evening, as they 
strolled up Riverside Drive toward Grant’s 
Tomb. “ I wish I had something to do. I’ve 

[313] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


spent about all the money I got for my furs, 
and I hate to have to call on you for money 
that I don’t earn. It makes me feel — well, 
just useless — a sissy.” 

“ What do you want to do? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — but something. It 
made me feel so independent to earn my own 
living while I was away, and to know I earned 
the money I had when I came back, and I’d 
like to feel that way all the time. I’m 
ashamed when I remember how I used to 
waste money I never earned. Dan always 
earned his own way.” 

“You’d better keep at school for awhile, 
my son. You can’t invest your time to better 
advantage than in obtaining an education.” 

“ Do you think so? It seems to me I’m 
just wasting time. I might be working the 
way Dan is and making my own way. I’m 
sure I could do something.” 

“ What do you think you could do? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. If it was n’t so far 
from you and Mother I’d like to spend the 
winters trapping with Mr. Amesbury. Of 
course, though, I can’t do that. Could n’t I 
[314] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 


have a job in your office, or get a berth on one 
of the ships? ” 

“ You might. You could start in at five or 
six dollars a week. That’s the usual thing. 
In a few years you’d probably be advanced 
to twenty or twenty-five dollars, and if you 
were very attentive to business, even more, 
say fifteen hundred or two thousand a year — 
and that’s a pretty high estimate, for the sup¬ 
ply of untrained men is larger than the de¬ 
mand. You ’d better keep at school, my son. 
The college-bred man has a much better 
chance of success in life than the man who 
has never been to college. What your future 
is to be, however, depends upon your own 
efforts and yourself.” 

They walked in silence for a while before 
Paul spoke. 

“Of course you’re right, Father. If you 
wish I ’ll keep at school and go through col¬ 
lege. But I’ve been ashamed of myself a 
good many times. I’ve been so selfish. I 
never thought of anybody but myself and my 
own pleasure before I went away. Being 
with Dan and Mr. Amesbury, and working, 
[315] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


myself, has made me want to be more like 
them and do something worth while. Life 
would be pretty tiresome without anything to 
do but just loaf around.” 

Densmore placed his hand on Paul’s shoul¬ 
der. 

“ I’m glad to hear you say that, Paul. 
That’s the spirit that makes a real man. I’m 
afraid we coddled and indulged you until 
you were becoming spoiled.” 

“ I failed in my examinations at school, 
too,” continued Paul, “ but I won’t fail again. 
I ’ll study now.” 

“ That’s the way to talk, my son. Stick to 
it, and when you ’re graduated from college 
you ’ll be prepared, with a little training and 
experience, to take my place. That’s what 
I’m looking forward to.” 

“ All right, Father. You’ve got my prom¬ 
ise to do my best, and here’s my hand on it. 
It’s my chance and I’m going to make the 
most of it. But I wish — I wish Dan had a 
chance too.” 

“ What kind of a chance do you want him to 
have? ” 

[316] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 

“I — I don’t just know. Dan’s pretty in¬ 
dependent. He would n’t take money from 
you unless he worked for it, and he has to 
work to help his folks. He wants to be a skip¬ 
per some day.” 

“ Do you think he’d like a berth on one of 
our steamers? ” 

“Yes, I guess so — if he could go home 
sometimes to see his folks.” 

“ That can be arranged.” 

And it was arranged. Dan was given a 
berth on a steamer plying between New York 
and South American ports, which he grate¬ 
fully accepted. 

Paul was graduated from Princeton six 
years later, and after a year’s apprenticeship 
in his father’s office was appointed General 
Superintendent of the Atlantic and Pacific 
Steamship Company. 

It was arranged to celebrate the occasion 
with a dinner at Mr. Densmore’s club. Dan’s 
ship was in port, and he, too, was to share in 
the honors. Paul insisted that the dinner 
would be incomplete without Captain Bluntt, 
and after many persuasive letters and cable- 
1317] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


grams the Captain was prevailed upon to 
journey again to New York, and to bring with 
him Skipper Rudd o’ the Ready Hand, Dan’s 
“ Dad,” ostensibly to pay Dan a brief visit. 

It was a jolly dinner, free from formality. 
Remington, Ainsworth and a half dozen of 
Paul’s college friends were there. Densmore 
at the head of the table acted as toastmaster, 
with Dan at his right and Paul at his left, 
which was in accordance with Paul’s wish. 

When coffee was served, Densmore, after 
extending a welcome to the guests, announced 
that they had been asked to join not simply in 
the celebration of Paul’s advancement to the 
superintendency of the Atlantic and Pacific 
Steamship Company, but also in the celebra¬ 
tion of his first official act as an officer of the 
company. Of this, he said, Paul would speak 
for himself. 

Paul began with a humorous description of 
his introduction to Captain Bluntt and the 
North Star, which pleased the Captain won- 
drously, and created much merriment. Then 
he passed on to the days when he and Dan 
were cast away, of how Dan’s resourcefulness 
[318] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 


and optimism, leavened with the philosophy 
of Skipper Rudd, had kept up his spirits; of 
Dan’s courage and high ability; of the strong 
and enduring friendship between him and 
Dan, a friendship akin to brotherly affection. 

“ Not alone the high esteem in which I hold 
Dan Rudd, but his marked efficiency as a nav¬ 
igator, as shown by his record while in the em¬ 
ploy of our company, has induced me, as my 
first act as an official, to appoint him first of¬ 
ficer of the steamship Amazonian, and to an¬ 
nounce that he is also first in line for advance¬ 
ment to a captaincy.” 

Dan was quite overcome. He had received 
no hint of the proposed appointment, and 
when he arose to express his thanks, emotion 
choked his voice. 

“ I can’t get words to thank you, Paul,” said 
he. Then after a pause, lapsing, under emo¬ 
tion, into the old vernacular, he continued: 
“ I were not expectin’ this. I hopes I ’ll 
prove worthy. You ’re wonderful good, Paul 
— sayin’ all those things. But I want t’ say, 
Paul, you ’re th’ grittiest mate I ever cruised 
with, an’ you were doin’ more than I did t’ 
[319] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 

work us out of the bush when we were cast 
away. I’m just a sailor, not used to talkin’, 
an’ I can’t get th’ words t’ say what I wants 
to — but — but—I’m wonderful thankful.” 

The moment Dan sat down Captain Bluntt 
was on his feet. 

“ That’s it! That’s it! ” he blurted. “ Told 
you so, Mr. Remington! Yes, sir! Told you 
Dan Rudd would be a skipper some day! 
Had the makin’ of a skipper! Yes, sir, he 
had! Lad of his parts sure to come to it! 
I’m proud! Proud! ” 

Then Dan’s “ Dad ” was called upon for a 
word. The rough, kindly old sailor-trapper, 
tanned and weather-beaten, was plainly labor¬ 
ing under embarrassment. 

“I’ma wonderful proud man this night — 
wonderful proud an’ wonderful thankful,” he 
began. “ An’ I’m thinkin’ I has fair reason 
t’ be proud an’ thankful. On my knees be¬ 
fore I sleeps I ’ll thank th’ Lard for His bles- 
sin’s. Standin’ here before you all I has too 
few words t’ thank th’ gentlemen as I wants 
to for their kindness t’ Dan. 

“ But Dan’s deservin’ o’ un. He were al- 
[320] 


HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 


ways a rare true lad. He were never shirkin’ 
duty as he seen it. When he were just a wee 
lad I says t’ he, 1 Dan,’ says I, ‘ when you has 
work t’ do, do un th’ best you knows how, an’ 
you ’ll always be findin’ th’ Lard standin’ back 
o’ ye’ t’ help, but don’t go askin’ th’ Lard t’ 
do things for ye what ye can do yourself. 
I’m thinkin’ ’t is always Dan’s way t’ foller 
them precepts, an’t’ do things he has t’ do th’ 
best he knows how. Dan’s been a rare good 
son t’ me an’ his mother — a rare good son — 
always.” 

“ Dan,” suggested Paul, when Remington 
and Ainsworth had each said a word of con¬ 
gratulation, “ before we go let’s have some 
music. I’m sure you have a harmonica some¬ 
where in your pockets.” 

“That mouth organ!” exploded Captain 
Bluntt. “ Don’t blow that mouth organ, you 
rascal, or I ’ll wring your neck! By the imps 
of the sea I will! ” 

“ Captain Bluntt let you play it once at our 
request,” said Remington, when the laugh that 
followed the Captain’s outburst had subsided, 
“ and I’m sure he will again.” 

[321] 


THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS 


“ And you wants! And you wants! ” con¬ 
sented Captain Bluntt, his eyes twinkling with 
merriment. 

“ What shall it be, Paul? ” asked Dan, pro¬ 
ducing the harmonica. 

“ You remember what you were playing 
that Christmas day when poor old Amesbury 
surprised us at our campfire above Fort Re¬ 
liance? Play that.” 

And Dan struck up, 

“ Over the hills and far away.” 


THE END. 


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